Chapter 60: The Missing Moon
Come on. Wake up, babe. Come on, there's a good girl. Hello, there you are.
A sharp cry stuck in her throat as Joe jolted awake. No fuss, just straight from asleep to awake, scanning her surroundings wildly. Nothing. No Kate. Breathing at a rapid pace, she slumped back down, closing her eyes, trying to distill the fear that had awoken her in the first place. Nightmares. Nightmares upon nightmares.
And pain.
"Ugh," she grunted and sat back up, wincing at every throbbing limb and joint. Like something had dropped her from high altitude into a pile of stones. That was where she laid anyway, in a small scree by the looks of it. Large groves in her bare arms where sharp rocks had dug in. "Ah!"
Her head hurt the most and she clutched her skull, trying to hold her brain in place, as she got up on weak legs. Weak. Pathetic. You can barely stand. Tripping and sliding down the old rockfall. Touching her face made her mind aware of another sensation: wet. Joe pulled her hand away to look at it, finding it covered in what she hoped was red paint.
No dice; it was blood. Of course it was blood.
A quick check confirmed that she was covered in it, hair matted and tangled with the dried substance, the remnants of her sweater soaked and still wet to the touch. Retching, she pulled at the heavy fabric to take it off, discarding it between the stones that had served as her bed for... how long? At least a little while. This left her in just a sports bra, but it was an improvement from the sweater. Joe squinted at the sun, barely making its way over the horizon. Dawn. Finally.
A more thorough search did not uncover any injuries unhealed. Splinters in her fingers though and she slowly picked them out with her teeth. No point risking getting them infected. No point wasting her healing capacity needlessly.
She needed to get somewhere. Joe nearly tripped onto her face at the thought. Somewhere. Where? Joe frowned at herself — mind heavy and sluggish. She had somewhere she was supposed to be. So she just needed to get there. Right?
First she had to figure out where she was in the first place. In a forest, obviously. A mixed-evergreen forest. Among the trees, she could recognize fir, oak, and a few laurels. Dense underbrush with hazel-
Hazel eyes. Large, wide hazel eyes; wide with fear. Memories flooded her brain too hard, too fast to handle and she stumbled over her feet, falling onto her ass. Like a spider, she crawled backward so she sat with her back against a tree, trying to breathe, trying to keep the noise down. Joe hugged her knees to her chest, making herself smaller.
What had she done? Oh my God. Oh no. That explained the splinters. Her hands shook as she looked at them, saw the blood, saw the now healed marks from the splinters and-
God, Erica. Where was Erica? Pressing her back against the tree, she looked around wildly, not daring to shout the name, not daring to shout at all. They could be out there. They probably were. They always were. Instead of spotting anyone else, she did spot a large branch, coated in blood. But no Erica. No sign of anyone but Joe.
Joe closed her eyes and prayed that was a good thing. No Jimmy either. That worried her more. Where was she? Last night, they'd ran and ran and somehow ended up here and-
The pain. Derek's pain. Hitting her like a trainwreck, making her lose her mind, literally and... God. Erica. What had she done?
Keeping in a whimper, she looked around again, scanning the treeline. Eyesight was as good as theirs at least. No sign of them. No sign of anything. Maybe they had lost her? Or they had wanted to lose her. Or they wanted to make her think they had lost her. Was this a test? Another one?
Think, girl.
Stay calm. First priority, stay calm. Don't let them see you be scared. Don't show fear, don't show anything. The stench of her blood-soaked leggings made her retch, almost throwing up. Okay. First priority, stay calm. Panic is your enemy. What did you do after staying calm? Find shelter seemed to press itself to the top of the list, remnants of old lectures by her dad — lip curling just at the thought. Shelter wouldn't work, and it was warm — the still weak sun shining down between the mixed-evergreen trees and she might have to worry more about heat stroke than hypothermia. Next point on the list: water.
Don't panic. If you panic, they'll know. They'll smell it.
She had to find Derek. This instinct was overpowering everything else. Stupid. Her hands flexed at the thought of him. Stay strong. But he was hurt. Stupid. She had no idea where he was. They were still out there though. Still waiting. This could be a trick. How many times before have they let you think you escaped?
Don't panic.
Birds singing, she realized. Sounds of insects. Maybe they weren't here? They had had a plan, hadn't they, and it had failed. Oh God, Erica...
Function. She had a function. She had to function.
Slowly, still expecting someone to leap out of the treeline, she crept forwards until she could stand. No sounds, not that she would hear them coming. Water. She had to find water, right? Any direction was as good as the other. Head west in the direction of the sun? Why not? Walk? No. Run, but don't panic.
Focusing on moving, because thinking was proving hard, she glanced over her shoulder constantly. Humans liked to see patterns, trained to do it, and she saw faces and bodies in every shadow, line, and contour of the trees. When she heard the burble of a nearby stream, her mood lifted tentatively. Dropping to a crouch, she moved slowly, trying to stake out if there would be an ambush. Birds still singing.
Deeming it safe, she moved forwards. In the small creek she found, she got in to wipe off the blood, even dunking her whole head under to wash her hair somewhat. Blood had a tangent smell, made her easier to track, and it attracted flies anyway. The red color mixed into nothing in the clear water, dissolving, and getting carried away with the moving stream.
She drank until her stomach felt uncomfortably full. Not worried about parasites or getting sick, which she might have once.
By the stream, in the still strange light of dawn that hadn't reached the whole forest yet, making everything seem less real, she heard something in the woods. Something moving. Joe froze first, waiting, confirming that it was getting closer to her. Branches creaking and twigs snapping. Fight or flight? Too weak to fight. Too weak to get away?
Instincts. Listen to them.
She ran.
Faster now. Blindly, without direction, just moving as fast as she could, making as little noise as she could. Like last night. To gain speed, she headed for where the terrain sloped downwards. Navigating the slippery rocks, she made her way down a crevasse, as she could see what looked like gravel at the bottom. It was — she'd found a road.
It made her pause, for just a second. They'd never let her get to any sign of civilization like this. Scanning the treeline again, looking for eyes, she found nothing. No sound of anything following her. They were stealthy though. Follow the road? Too predictable.
Jumping into the ditch on the other side of the gravel road — she ran. Branches whipped her face and the occasional pinecone bore into the soles of her feet, but she ran, struggling to both keep her breath steady and to keep the balance fully on her side. Her pain, only hers. No sound of pursuit, but she would not be lulled into that false sense of security again. Never again. Only the sound of her breath and her feet hitting the ground at a high pace. Flashes from the night. Two sets of footsteps then, chasing each other.
Joe blinked her eyes shut, ridding herself of the memory. Keep running. Keep running!
The forest seemed to grow thicker. She pushed herself through, but when she caught onto a particularly heavy branch hitting her across her taut stomach, she vomited. Most of the water from before came back up. At least it was just water this time. No time to stop. The whole forest sounded alive with noises now, of someone following, of someone tracking her. Nothing sounded real, but she could not trust her own head anymore. Joe held her hand out in front of her, saw the shaking. Keep running.
Before she knew it, she dashed out onto another road. Asphalt concrete, the main road. Cars. Again, she stopped, amazed at the sight of headlights approaching her. Loud honking as the car had to swerve to avoid hitting her. Her bare feet slapped onto the pavement, already moving, leaving a pissed-off driver in her wake. Not safe. Keep running.
Dashed through the forest on the other side of the road, reached a fence, jumped it, in some backyard now, loud barking, but she was already over the other side before the dog ever caught up. Street, houses, people — familiar? No. Keep running.
Houses gave away to taller buildings; ugly square boxes littered with windows and the remnants of signs. Derelict and abandoned. Joe paused in a shadowy corner, hoping to catch her breath. Head span and vision blurred — she was running on fumes now. Hands shaking.
This was Beacon Hills' warehouse district. She was in Beacon Hills.
A loud noise in the middle between a sob and a laugh burst through. She caught herself, now lowering onto her haunches, listening, holding her throbbing head in her hands. Had they heard? Were they here? Could she ever outrun them? If she was here, it was because they wanted her to be.
Something clanged nearby, like a metallic trashcan getting kicked over. Not worth finding out if it was them or just some kids. Joe took off again. Now at least with a direction. Heading downtown. No. No, wait, Joe, think! Think, girl!
If she led them to the apartment, if Jimmy was holed up there... She couldn't. So where was she supposed to go? Hospital? No, she was too weak. Hospital and Sheriff's station could wait, although she had no doubt in her mind she would be taken there eventually if they didn't find her first. Her stomach churned just thinking about it. She didn't even know what date it was, how long it had been, how much they must have worried...
Her chest heaved as she paused again, still clinging to the shadows of the buildings. It was still dark out, not fully morning, she had moved fast. Where was she going to go? Vision swam in front of her. When was the last time she slept? Stupid question, she didn't even know what day it was. Not even the month. Summer? It was warm. Explained her dizziness. Dehydration and heatstroke.
Somehow, she kept moving, she kept running. Driven by instinct alone. Not even the thought of how this might be what they wanted could make her stop. What other choice was there?
Stumbling through a set of doors, Joe looked over her shoulder, but no one followed. Not yet anyway. They liked to take their time. If she could just find him first, maybe they stood a chance? She staggered into the elevator, hitting the top floor button, and then falling onto her back while the doors closed. Every breath came with a fight.
It took what little she had left to get up when the doors opened again. Everything in her body fought to just close her eyes now, relax, convinced she was safe when she was not. Not yet. Would she ever be? The sliding door in front of her blurred, her hand scrabbling to even find the handle. Heavy to open and she clung to it when it did, muscles not holding her.
Legs were giving out now. They had been screaming since she woke up, but she ignored them — the brief reprieve in the elevator made it impossible now. An alarm started blaring when she opened the door, but no one attacked.
She called his name. No answer.
No one was here.
Hitting the large button in her wake — the alarm halted immediately — she stalked throughout the place to find him. No one was here. Instincts drove her to where his scent was strongest — a grayish-blue comforter laid spread haphazardly over white sheets.
Dimly aware of her wet clothes, she stripped out of them. They smelled wrong and she wanted to smell like her. For now it smelled like him and she blinked against the rising sun throughout the window. Beacon Hills. She was in Beacon Hills.
Where was he?
Question for another time. After sleep. When was the last time she slept? Did it count as sleeping what she had done those brief moments of unconsciousness before dawn?
Did it matter? A sensation of falling, but never hitting the floor. Soft bed. Was this a dream? Was she already asleep?
Her eyes shut on their own, no longer possible to stay open. Head filled with his scent. Safe.
Nothing hurt.
First coherent thought when she woke up again. Nothing hurt. No pain, no mysterious aches, no half-healed broken bones shifting to get back in place. Heavy muscles and heavy head, but nothing hurt. Some of that could be explained by the bed. This was an actual bed, not rocks or a blanket spread out onto marble. A soft bed. Warm. Dreamy.
Joe kept her eyes closed, breathing in through her nose. It smelled like him. Only the thought could make her cry. If this was a dream, she was not ready to wake up. It smelled so much like him.
She laid fully under the covers, but the warmth came more from the person lying behind her, clinging onto her with their arm around her. Their breath fanned over her neck with every exhale. Joe smiled gently. If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend it was him a little longer. Just a little longer.
Despite herself, she turned slowly, like she had done so many times before in this dream.
Derek was asleep, eyes closed and the usual furrow between his brows smoothed out. He hadn't woken at her shifting, still slept, lips slightly parted. A soft snore with every exhale. Joe took her time. Studying all his features. Thick stubble on his cheeks, dark eyebrows now relaxed, a little pale, like he needed the sleep.
And as always, she brought her hand out, unable to resist touching him. It tugged at her heart, knowing it always ended here — when she touched him. Touched him to find he wasn't there after all, or at least someone else. Softly, slowly, gently, she placed her palm on his cheek, just feeling the beard under her fingertips, like thick black fur-
She froze as Derek put his hand over hers to keep it in place. Everything in her system shut down as he turned his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. Soft, chaste, but sending sparks through every nerve ending in her body. So vivid, it couldn't be a dream.
"You're here," she said, voice raw and unused for so long. Almost accusing. He opened his eyes and even though confused, she could die happily at the memory of Derek opening his eyes from sleeping to look at her. At her.
His eyes closed drowsily and he kissed the inside of her wrist again — the electricity would have knocked her feet from under her, but she was already lying down. He shifted his hand to entwine his fingers with hers, holding their joint hands between them in the bed. Content. Breath caught in her throat as he mumbled: "So are you. Welcome back."
Joe could not even breathe. This was better than she could have imagined. More and more things prodded at her senses, making her realize this might not actually be a dream. First, she was not naked. Also, she laid under the covers, while he laid fully clothed on top of them in a t-shirt and jeans and...socks. Which was not in tune with how her dreams usually went. And even in her dreams, even in her deepest fever-induced hallucinations, Derek hadn't acted as sweet as he did now. She could not have imagined him kissing the inside of her wrist, his soft beard tickling the sensitive skin.
Socks. Had she ever seen Derek without shoes?
And if her brain could function for half a second instead of drowning itself by the scent of him, she could have thought about it. She turned without letting go of his hand to look at the room — it was his bedroom in the loft. Derek's loft. She'd come here this morning, hadn't she?
"If I'd known sending you that text would have you half-naked in my bed less than twenty-four hours later," Derek mumbled from somewhere behind her. He sounded tired, almost as exhausted as she felt, "I would've done that two months ago."
His words made less sense than her thoughts. What had happened? The details were fuzzy. She had come here. Instincts driving her, both a burning need to see if he was okay and to seek safety with him. Strongest together.
"Your timing is impeccable as always," Derek murmured into the pillow his head laid on. "Did you swim here? Your hair was wet."
"What?"
"Nothing," he said with his eyes closed and squeezed her hand, almost as a gentle persuasion to make her come closer. "If this is your apology, I'm accepting."
"What?"
She sat up, her mind too fuddled to deal with lying so close to him. The covers fell down, but she wore a soft t-shirt that had to be his. No bra though, even though she could have sworn she came in here in a pair of running tights and a sports-bra last night. Just wearing her underwear and the t-shirt, she shifted her naked legs under the covers. No, wait, she'd taken off her own clothes, right? So where did the t-shirt come from?
"Did you put this on me?"
"You wouldn't wake up," Derek said as an explanation, still lying fully down on his side. He sounded half-asleep. "Don't worry, I kept my eyes closed."
Like that was what she worried about. He'd seen her far worse anyway, at the hospital. Wet. Why was her hair wet? Swam from where? What?
"Hey. You okay?" Derek asked and she looked at him again. He had one eye open to watch her. "Did something happen?"
A loaded question. So much had happened. Something wasn't right here. What happened last night? It was the full moon and-
"Oh my God!" she gasped, finally remembering, and turned to him in a heartbeat, pushing him so he laid on his back. "You-"
Her hands roamed his torso frantically, pushed up the t-shirt he wore, revealing nothing more than a flawless upper body, muscles rippling under her hands. No blood, no scratches, no wounds. It had felt like he'd been flayed alive, skin and flesh ripping from his bones over and over again.
Joe let out a sigh of relief. Short-lived, as she caught Derek's raised eyebrow — he looked fully awake now — and realized her hands were still pushing his t-shirt up and touching his well-cut abdominal muscles.
Another set of memories flooded in and she retracted her hands as if burnt.
"Sorry. I thought..." She let the sentence drift off, still staring at him, but not because of his physique for once, but for the unscathed skin. Her breath shook. "It hurt so bad I thought you died."
His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but grew darker as he grabbed her hand. She wondered if he felt the tingling in his skin too or if it was just her. Joe stopped breathing completely when he placed her palm back onto his bare stomach.
"Healed," he said, but there was a challenging glint in his eye. As if giving her permission, if she dared. "It's okay."
Joe did not even think. Instincts had her trail her palm over his stomach, over his ribs and up to his chest, like she had just done out of panic, but now curiosity. Soft skin, light scratches of chest hair, intense heat. Utterly perfect. How many times had she imagined this? Dreamt of this?
"I thought the Alphas..." she said breathlessly, hand on his bare chest with his t-shirt still pushed up to his shoulders, feeling the reassuring movement and strong heartbeat.
His brows pulled together. "Alphas? How did you... Did you talk to Scott?"
"What? No, I came right here." She blinked a bit, not sure of why she had come right here. There had been somewhere else she was supposed to go.
"Instinct," Derek said, obviously recognizing her confusion. A bit more awake, he sat up, letting both her hand and his t-shirt fall down as he leaned against the wall. "It's the bond, remember? If we're hurt, we'll look for each other." His brows pulled together again, studying her face, looking for something. "I didn't think you'd feel that or I wouldn't have gone in there. You stopped taking the pills again?" He looked somewhat hopeful. "Because of the text?"
"What pills? Gone in where? What?"
"The mountain ash-pills," Derek explained and just the name of that plant sent a chill down her spine.
"No, I... I told you, no more pills." Joe pushed her matted curls away from her face, looking at the covers instead of him, trying to piece everything together. "Why-"
"I just assumed," Derek said slowly and studied her face again. "Since I didn't feel anything from you, not even..." His eyes seemed locked on her lips. "You've just been that busy?"
Something was wrong. Her mind screamed at her to connect the dots, but she was so tired. How long had she slept? Automatically she looked down at her hands — no trembling. A while then.
"Hey," Derek said again and ducked his head so he could look through her curtain of hair. "Something wrong?"
"This- this wasn't how I thought this would go," Joe admitted slowly, feeling the wrinkle form in her forehead when looking at him. The confession hung in the air, timid in its vulnerability. She had expected more.
"To my defense, I wasn't expecting you back so soon," he said in an easy tone and again, alarm bells clanged in her mind. His brows tilted upwards in fatigued amusement. "Or that I would have to fight Boyd and my thought-to-be-dead baby sister in a boiler room until sun-up."
"W-what? You found them?" She felt like throwing up. Her breath hitched, mind flooding with the unbridled knowledge of where she should have been. Boyd and Cora. She stared at him, trying to breathe. "Are they okay?"
Are they alive? Please say yes, please say yes... Her eyes widened, waiting for the answer; if Erica had been bad outside of the vault, those two had to be insane.
"Yeah, they're upstairs, healing."
"Oh thank God." She fell forward, hands tightly together at her forehead in almost a prayer. Her lungs felt close to collapsing and she gasped for breath. "Oh thank God-"
"Hey, hey, it's okay." Derek grabbed her around both arms and chest to keep her from flailing out of the bed. He rubbed her shoulder. "Are you okay? Did something happen? Did you get into an accident, because of me? Because if you came here instead of going to the hospital, we gotta get you in there before Melissa comes looking."
She hardly heard his words. Cora and Boyd were okay. They were okay. Derek was okay. Jimmy and... Erica? Oh God, Erica.
Joe untangled herself from Derek, looking at his concerned bright eyes — no wonder he was tired, full moon ended just a few hours ago. They both sat on top of the bed, her still half-covered in the sheets. She had to tell him what happened with Erica, what she'd done to Erica and maybe, maybe they still had time to find her and she could still be alive, right, if they just found her in time?
His hand came up to rest lightly against her temple and her eyes fluttered closed on their own. He tucked a strand of hair back. "You're all over the place."
He was talking about her signals and she knew they were; because she had no idea what was going on. His scent for the first time in months had thrown her whole system for a spin. Out of control. Spiraling.
"What happened?"
Too much. Too much to say. In pure selfishness, not wanting to end this just yet, Joe found herself placing her hand on top of his, wanting to keep it against her skin. Never letting go, because when she told him, he'd push away in disgust and she just wanted a little while longer. "I missed you."
She could feel how his fingers curled lightly, pulling her closer — or was she leaning in? Or both? His breath tickled her lips. "I miss-"
Their lips never met and Joe opened her eyes to see Derek focusing behind her. Looking at the door, brows coming together in slight puzzlement. "Peter?" His face cleared and he raised his voice: "Isaac, no, wait-"
Too late, apparently, as the door to Derek's bedroom flew open and Isaac's pale face appeared.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Isaac blurted at the sight of them, more tangled into each other than the sheets. Dressed in a thin white t-shirt and a scarf, Isaac covered his eyes with one hand, looking towards the ceiling for good measure. "Uhh, Peter's here and-"
In a hurried movement, Derek flung the covers almost completely over Joe, concealing her bare legs. Not that it mattered, they were already both on their way out of the bed because now Joe could hear Peter's angry yelling as well.
"Derek!" he roared, sounding strained. "A little help here?"
Dimly aware of her half-nakedness, but not really caring, she followed Derek out into the loft, not sure what to expect. It wasn't just Peter. It was Peter struggling under the heavy bulk of a nearly unconscious Jimmy with Stiles by his side, of all people.
"Get him on the table. Isaac, move!" Derek ordered and it set everyone into motion.
"What's wrong with him?" Isaac asked, but was already moving like an extension of Derek himself. "There's no blo- oh, no, there it is. That is definitely blood."
Stiles was doubling over where he held up Jimmy on the opposite side of Peter. "He is really heavy if anyone wanted to know." His eyes fell on her, widening dramatically and she stared back, not knowing what to say. He had grown his hair out, Joe realized, no longer a buzzcut. "Joe? When did you get back? And why are you not wearing pants?"
No time for that now. Instead of answering, Joe tried to get Jimmy's attention. "Jimmy? Hey! Jimmy, are you with me?"
They cleared the dining room table while Derek and Isaac hefted Jimmy's long body onto it. Deja vu, thought Joe, but Derek's table was more than long enough to take all of Jimmy. His eyes were nearly rolling back into his head she found when pinching his eyelids open. Breaths coming in short wheezes, rapid and weak pulse, skin turning near blue. Frothy pink blood coming up his mouth.
"Punctured lung," Joe said and ripped Jimmy's shirt — an uncharacteristic band t-shirt from the seventies — off his chest. No evident damage on the surface, but she used her hands to check his rib cage and found it near collapsed. "Internal trauma."
"Why isn't he healing?" Isaac asked, on the other side of the table, biting on his thumbnail.
"An Alpha did this," Derek said from next to Joe, watching her move her hands to survey the damage. He looked at Peter. "Where did you find him?"
"Stumbling through the woods," Peter said with a shrug like that was the most natural thing in the world. After they took Jimmy off his shoulder, he had fetched a small towel from the kitchen to wipe himself off where Jimmy had coughed blood on his shirt. He frowned at the stains.
"Then I nearly ran them over when they both stumbled into the middle of the road," Stiles supplied, still catching his breath. "Seriously, Joe, how are you here?"
Joe tried to ignore them, tried to ignore her own head too. Jimmy was hurt. Function. She had to function. "Most likely broken rib fractures have pierced through his lungs. If he can't get enough oxygen, he might go brain dead."
"Or his heart will stop," Stiles commented from where he stood on the other side of the table, "and he will die. Why are you not wearing pants?"
"Uuh," Jimmy wheezed and his hand was full of dirt as he grabbed Joe's wrist. He pulled at her, forcing her closer. "Didn't...get her. Gone."
"Her?" Isaac exclaimed, as all the werewolves probably heard Jimmy's words. "That chick with the toenails? That's who did this?"
Kali, thought Joe but didn't say it. What she did say was: "Doesn't matter who did it right now. We need to get him to a hospital!"
Cold, she thought as she pushed Jimmy's sweaty hair away from his face. Pasty white skin. This was not good. And he didn't get her. She was gone. Dead. Joe'd killed her. Focus, function — Jimmy was hurt. Alive, but hurt.
"And what are you gonna say when he starts healing right in the middle of surgery?"
Joe bit her teeth together, shouting to be heard over Jimmy's labored breaths. "I don't know, Stiles! But we need to secure respiratory function and I don't see any ventilators nearby. I need suggestions more than I need arguments. Please."
"No..." Jimmy wheezed and Joe scoffed as she felt Jimmy's taut skin over the sunken ribcage.
"Jimmy, I swear to God, if you try to waste breath saying 'no hospital', I will punch a hole through your other lung." She frowned at the gurgling sound when he laughed. "Stiles, can you call Scott or Aunt Mel and let them know we're coming?"
That I'm back. That I'm okay. That I need them.
"Why? Where's your phone?" He sounded suspicious and she just stared at him — why would she have her phone?
It was Derek who barked: "Stiles!"
Stiles still hesitated for a second, but only a second before he nodded.
"Uh, Joe?"
She turned to face Isaac who offered her a bundle of gray cloth while making it very obvious he was looking at her face and nowhere else. It was a pair of sweatpants and she accepted them with a grateful nod, shrugging them on quickly. At her side, she could see Derek hastily putting on shoes.
"Okay, who has a car?" Joe asked and was about to lift Jimmy off the table herself before Derek caught on to what she was doing and took over.
"I do," he said, ignoring Stiles' hand that also waved in the air from where he was on the phone. Derek lifted the same-sized man off the table with relative ease, holding him under his knees and back. "Peter, stay here and make sure no one gets in."
Peter scoffed and put his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Since when did I turn into your personal guard dog?" Catching the sight of Derek's expression, he relented. "Fine."
"Everyone else stays put."
"What about..." Isaac gestured vaguely towards the spiral staircase and Joe's heart gave a lurch, knowing who was up there. Instincts tried to tear her in half — she had to prioritize.
"Everyone stays put," Derek repeated, putting pressure on each word.
Sounding out of breath, Stiles came back from his phone call. "Okay, she's got a room, but is kinda stressed, especially after what happened with Isaac."
"What happened with Isaac? Nevermind, tell me in the car, let's go."
Stiles raised his hand again. "Uh, do I also have to stay put or can I get Scott?"
"Don't care!" Joe and Derek shouted at the same time as she ran in front of him to open the sliding doors. Jimmy's breath came more and more shallow, they did not have time to spare. At the last possible second, Stiles jumped into the elevator with them, giving an apologetic smile.
"I'll pick up Scott," Stiles proclaimed and Joe nodded, keeping tabs on Jimmy's condition. Scott. God, she missed Scott.
Instead of the Camaro she had expected, Derek led her to a retro-styled silver SUV. It was a tight fit to squeeze Jimmy in the space behind the seats and Joe nearly fell over with flashbacks from the night with Kate, when she lured Joe out into the woods. Derek glanced at her, probably sensing the surge in adrenaline, but there was no time.
Each jumped to their respective seats — he was driving of course and span out on the road in no time. Joe looked at her hands, gauging their steadiness. She was good. This was real. For now.
"Isaac found out where they held Boyd and my sister. The Alphas took him, he was rescued by some chick with a motorcycle, ended up in an accident," Derek said, looking at the road where he seemed to run every single red light in existence. Motorcycle chick? Right. File away for later. "They took him to the hospital. The Alphas made another move to get him there, disguised as hospital personnel. If they show up now, you run."
"Like hell I am," Joe bit out, glancing at Jimmy in the backseat, the pink foam around his lips. If they showed up, she'd kill. No gun, no claws, no fangs be damned. She'd kill them with her bare hands.
"Damn it, Joe," Derek spat and wrenched the wheel around. "They're Alphas. I won't be able to keep you safe. You can't underestimate them!"
"You think I don't know that?" she snapped, tearing around to stare at him. Same alarm bells from before — something was not right. How could he not realize she knew that? Of everyone, she knew the Alphas better than any of them.
Before she could ask, Derek's reckless driving slung her sideways in the seat as they pulled in at the back entrance of the hospital. Joe got out with Derek, helping him get the unconscious Jimmy out of the backseat.
Not even Jimmy's shallow breathing could distract her from the swell of emotions at the sight of Aunt Mel, in lilac hospital scrubs, waving them inside frantically.
"Joe?" Aunt Mel looked confused. "When did you get here?"
What was that kind of greeting? Not the reunion she had pictured.
"I-"
That was all she could utter before Aunt Mel focused on Jimmy. Joe shook it off, mirroring her aunt — focus on the task at hand. If they could do it, she could do it. More important things than reunions right now, even though it stung. Focus. Function.
Her eyes fell to the cameras, although sparse in this part of the hospital, they were still there and Derek wasn't exactly stealthy where he put Jimmy on a stretcher.
At that moment, the Jeep skidded to a halt next to Derek's SUV and Joe nearly keeled over when Scott jumped out. He looked good, uninjured, maybe a little tired. She had lost all sense of time, but he probably still felt the after-effects of the full moon too.
For a while, they just stared at each other and she focused on minute details; the uneven jawline; the few strands of hair drooping into his face; the American flag on the arm of his faded denim jacket. She would recognize the jacket anywhere — it used to be her dad's and she had planned to give it to Scott for his birthday.
"Joe?" he asked, face open and confused. "When did you get back? What happened with Jimmy? What-"
Not thinking, she threw herself around his neck, hugging him like her life depended on it. It took him by surprise, but he remained steady and carefully put his arms around her in return. Five seconds. She counted them. Five seconds she could just hug her big stupid cousin.
"You okay?" he asked when she pulled back and she shook her head — she was obviously not okay — but there wasn't enough time. Behind them, Aunt Mel and Derek were wheeling Jimmy inside.
"Stiles," Joe said and grabbed his jacket with a bit more force than planned as he nearly doubled back. She nodded to the cameras. "The guards take a half-hour break once each shift. Can you get into the watchroom and delete our footage?"
He looked positively delighted at the prospect.
One less problem, thought Joe, one less problem on a long list. Long long list. Jimmy hadn't gotten her. Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it. One thing at a time. Help those who can be helped. She ran down after Aunt Mel and the others where they wheeled Jimmy into the closest room.
"What's wrong with him?" Aunt Mel demanded to know, her nurse-voice in place as she set up the tracheal intubation-kit. Derek wisely stayed back, arms crossed over his chest, out of the way. Scott hovered near the door, keeping watch — the Isaac-incident must have spooked them. Good. Okay, that made the lackluster welcome more understandable.
Joe found her voice, temporarily gone at the sight of Jimmy lying unmoving in the hospital bed. "Collapsed lung. Possible bone fragments still piercing the tissue."
Aunt Mel nodded and went to inject some kind of anesthesia into Jimmy's arm. She let her hand go briefly over Jimmy's chest and looked up. "Joe, his whole rib cage is collapsed."
"I know, I know, I-" Joe squeezed her hands over her mouth. "He'll heal, it will just take time." If he could keep breathing, he'd keep healing. If he stopped, he died — just like Erica. Joe swallowed thickly, trying to keep breathing herself. "Give him air, please."
"If his broken ribs keep pushing into his lung," Aunt Mel talked as she inserted the flexible tube down Jimmy's throat, using some sort of device to hold his mouth open, "we might just be blowing air into his chest cavity. How long will it take for him to heal?" She was looking at Derek.
"Hard to say," Derek admitted with a harsh sigh. Not unkind, something soft in his voice when he addressed Aunt Mel. "Could be minutes, could be hours."
"He doesn't have hours." Aunt Mel looked at both of them now, her and Derek, while her hands kept working, kept putting the tube down his throat. Normally they used cameras to ensure no damage to the vocal cords, but Joe guessed Aunt Mel banked on Jimmy's healing to take care of that in case of an accident.
"Surgery?" Joe suggested and Aunt Mel shook her head in despair.
"Joe, I can't- I can lose my job just by doing this. After the whole Isaac-fiasco, I can't take that kind of risk. And if I call down the cardiothoracic surgeon and he heals before she even gets here, that's-"
Joe took a shuddering breath. "We just need to get the bone fragments out of the lung, right? Not even repair the damage, just get the bones out."
"No, no, no," Aunt Mel said quickly, getting where Joe was going with this. Breathing tube in place, she taped the apparatus to Jimmy's face. "Are you absolutely out of your mind? The risks-"
"Are limited because he'll heal. If we can keep him breathing long enough."
Aunt Mel tore off her rubber gloves with a smack, depositing them into the trashcan in the corner. "Joe, I am a nurse. I'm a good nurse, but still just a nurse. I'm not a surgeon!"
"Hold out your hands," Joe demanded, ignoring the panicked looks of both Scott and Derek as they got now what she planned. Aunt Mel did with a tight twist to her mouth and Joe stepped forwards, making Aunt Mel look down. "Steady, right? Dead steady."
"This is insane," Aunt Mel repeated, but Joe recognized the look in her eye. The look that said if they didn't do anything, someone might die. And that did not sit right with her.
"Healers," Joe said, ignoring the rush of guilt and shame in her own stomach, just focusing on Aunt Mel. "Right? Please, Aunt Mel."
"Mom," Scott said from his place at the door. They both turned to look at him and he nodded. "You can do this."
Aunt Mel's breath shook. "I can not believe I'm agreeing with this. Okay. Um, we have to find a surgery hall that's-"
"Morgue," Joe said and winced at the shocked expressions. "Look, there's gonna be a lot of blood and it's stainless steel. Easy to clean. And, you know, they have scalpels."
Blinking slowly, Aunt Mel put her hand on Joe's shoulder and squeezed. She sounded half sarcastic and half in awe. "Welcome back, Joe. How was San Diego?"
It was a rhetorical question, sparing Joe the trouble of asking what the hell San Diego had to do with anything — more alarm bells in her head, ding ding ding on repeat — and they immediately started moving to get Jimmy over to the morgue. The hospital corridors were basically deserted as they wheeled Jimmy and the ventilator connected to him into the morgue.
"If someone finds us, we're gonna have some serious explaining to do," Aunt Mel commented drily as she donned the long backward coats used by surgeons and coroners alike. Even if Joe insisted that infection risks were low — Jimmy's healing would take care of that, she hoped — Aunt Mel insisted to go through the whole ordeal.
They had put Jimmy on one of the autopsy tables, the ones with a convenient drain for the blood and bodily fluids. A corpse laid under a blanket on a trolly nearby. Stainless steel and plastic, all dead materials. Fitting for a morgue. Scott excused himself to stand watch and Derek looked like he wanted to leave as well, but Joe asked him to stay.
"Are you in shape to take some of the pain?" she asked while shrugging on her own surgical coat. She put a mask on, just in case there was blood spatter. When Derek hesitated, she added: "You can say no. It's okay."
He was already rolling up his sleeves. "I'll try."
"Good, because I can't give him more anesthesia," Aunt Mel said and laid out a set of scalpels. Even if her voice shook, her gloved hands didn't. She had on a pair of goggles as well, also used by coroners when they cut through the breastbone during autopsies. "Are we doing this?"
"We're doing this," Joe insisted and took the cloth from Aunt Mel's hands, ready to dab away the blood. "Come on, Aunt Mel, you can do this. Please."
Saying a small prayer in Spanish under her breath, Aunt Mel felt around Jimmy's ribcage — he made tiny wheezing sounds, but Derek had his palms around his other arm. Black veins running up. Joe's gaze flickered to Derek's face; he had taken a lot of damage last night. His strength was reduced.
Good thing Derek was the strongest person she had ever met. And he was smarter than Scott, he'd know when to stop, a tricky balance to find.
Aunt Mel gave instructions, curt and precise, and Joe did the best she could to assist. She wondered if Aunt Mel noticed her switches to Spanish, but it didn't matter. What mattered was to remove the broken ribs from Jimmy's lung. First they had to deflate the rest of the chest cavity, whatever that meant, and Joe just closed off her brain and followed Aunt Mel's lead.
There was a lot of blood and a lot of whispered exclamations from Joe. Also prayers. The only reason Aunt Mel wasn't a surgeon, Joe deduced, was because she was too good a nurse. When Aunt Mel had opened up Jimmy's chest so they could see the broken ribs, Joe dabbed the blood away at regular intervals, hoping to hell Jimmy would start healing before he died of anemia as well.
"Oh my God," Aunt Mel whispered, both in English and Spanish, as she pulled on the broken rib to get it out of his lung that still inflated and deflated with the help of the intubation. Her voice turned from whispered to shrill. "Ohhh, what is happening? What is-"
Joe peered over and wished she hadn't. As Aunt Mel got the bone piece out of the lung, his ribs immediately started shifting, trying to mend themselves. Healing. Finally. The process was, unfortunately, disgusting and Aunt Mel made vocal expressions about the fact.
A grunt made her look up. Derek, already pale, was now near see-through. Thick angry black veins pulsed up his forearms and he gritted his teeth, swaying.
"Derek, let go," Joe said, but he shook his head. "Derek..."
Nostrils flared, he bit out: "Just hurry."
"Okay, okay, okay, I got it, one more," Aunt Mel whispered somewhere underneath her mask. "Oh, this is weird, oh my God, oh no."
At least Joe could agree. It was one thing seeing a small cut patch itself together, but to see Jimmy's lung tissue rebuild itself was just on a whole new level. They pushed through, Joe looking at both Jimmy and Derek in turn, gauging who was faring the worst. Aunt Mel closed off the large gash with tape, listening to Joe's insistence that it would patch itself together eventually without need for stitches.
"There," Aunt Mel said and took her hands off Jimmy, afraid of disturbing anything else now. Eyes wide behind the blood-spattered goggles, she took a step back. "It's done."
And of course, that's when Derek decided to collapse.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Joe rushed over to his side before he crashed to the floor.
Not caring about the blood on her, she managed to catch him at the chest before he slumped down. Heavy, sure, but the sheer size almost forced her to sit down with him. Swearing, she propped him up against the table Jimmy laid on and wrenched off her gloves, mask, and coat, stuffing it all in the bio-hazard waste container.
"Is he okay?" Aunt Mel called from where she scrubbed her hands.
Joe knelt down next to Derek, barely awake. His eyes fluttered when she wiped away a few strands of hair on his forehead. "Are you okay?"
The last time she saw him like this was when Deaton had patched up Scott and Derek had inhaled a good dose of wolfsbane mist. Same soft face. He nodded and she felt her own lungs threaten to collapse at the large sigh of relief.
"Thank you," she said, earnest as she could be, still with her palm on his forehead. A slight pull to his lips, almost a smile. She'd take it. A lot of things pushed their way to the front of her mind, a lot of things she wanted to say. She had planned to say.
Unfortunately, Stiles decided to reappear and took in the heavy blood splatter and used scalpels. "Oh my God! What are you doing, re-making the Texas Chainsaw Massacre?" He spasmed as the drain gurgled with blood when Aunt Mel opened the tap. "Jees-sus!"
And then he passed out, Scott barely making it in time to catch him.
It took them some time to clean everything up, especially after Stiles managed to douse everyone with the hose (he blamed dizziness after his fainting spell). Aunt Mel wiped frantically at the table, removing all traces and disinfecting at the same time. She left to get Jimmy a new set of clothes as the rest wheeled him back into the first room. Joe helped Derek up and deposited him in a chair by Jimmy's bed, even though he looked like he needed his own bed. Like her, he was running on fumes.
"Can you go back to the loft and check on the others?" Joe asked Scott, pulling him aside and keeping her voice soft. Even if Peter and Isaac looked to be somewhat up to par, she did not like leaving Cora and Boyd unprotected like that. Scott gave her a confused look, but nodded.
"Yeah, okay." He still looked concerned, but before he left, he pulled her into a tight hug and whispered: "I'm sorry, you know. I promised I'd tell you in person first thing, so..."
Joe hugged him back — so tight she could hear him grunting in slight pain. "I'm sorry too. We'll talk later." They had a lot to talk about. "Now go, please."
"I'm glad you're back. I love you," he said and it took her by surprise, even though he had said it before, sometimes excessively as a younger child. This was still not what she had expected, but closer at least. Maybe they'd have time — later.
At a loss for words, she squeezed him again, wondering when he had grown so much. She was supposed to worry about him, not the other way around. Things had changed. They had changed.
After he and Stiles left, Joe took a look at the unconscious pair in the room and promptly fell to her knees by the door. She leaned against it, both for balance and also to get a warning if Aunt Mel returned. No tears. Not now. No room for tears. They — Derek and Jimmy — needed her to function right now. They all needed her to function. And she needed them. That's how packs worked, right?
Derek did not stir. He sat slumped in the chair, head resting on his chest, breathing evenly. So did Jimmy, although his breathing was still helped by the ventilator. Ten seconds, Joe thought. Ten seconds and you get up. Ten seconds and you get up and you function. She counted to ten, slowly, in her mind. And then she got up.
Most dysfunctional pack in history, she thought and made her way to Jimmy's bed first. The gauze laid tight and bright red over the surgery incision, but when she touched it she found it to be moving and shifting underneath her fingertips. Healing.
One eye on Derek, who still slept, she whispered to Jimmy: "I'm sorry."
He did not stir. Not yet. Anesthesia or blood loss keeping him unconscious, forcing him to rest and heal. Joe let her fingertips go down to Jimmy's arm. She winced at the sensation of pain pushing through his skin into her, grimacing at the sight of the black veins pulling into her flesh, into her system. Running on fumes, but she could take some of it. Jimmy's breaths came a little easier, at least for a little while.
It was the least she could do, considering how she had literally punched a hole through his ribcage last night.
Eventually, Aunt Mel returned with a set of hospital green scrubs for Jimmy. She beckoned Joe out into the hallway and Joe felt the heaviness in her legs when following. No sense of time, no sense of order — it was probably less than eight hours since she first woke up in the forest. The Preserve. The realization almost made her laugh. In the fucking Preserve.
"You sure know how to make an entrance," Aunt Mel said after softly closing the door to the two sleeping werewolves inside. Whatever Joe had expected, it was not Aunt Mel's stern frown and crossed arms as she turned to face Joe. "Well? Do you have something you want to say to me?"
"W-what?"
Something was wrong something was wrong something was wrong.
Aunt Mel's eyebrows were up high, looking unimpressed. "An apology, for starters? An explanation would be better."
Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
"Look," Aunt Mel seemed to take pity on Joe's frozen panic, "I get that you needed some time-out because of the thing with your dad, the missing kids, Scott, Derek — I get that, totally fine." Ding ding ding. "But I've been worried sick about you! That you don't want to talk to Rob or Scott or Derek, that's fine, but I want a real explanation to what I did to warrant that same treatment? Okay? If you're not too busy right now?"
Something about the way she said the word 'busy' made the alarm bells grow to ear-deafening volume in Joe's head. Her mouth opened and shut, trying and failing to get any words out at all.
"Because you've been too busy for three months straight and you could at least have come up with a better excuse if you didn't want to talk to me. Again, you're an adult, you're entitled to your privacy, but I was this," Aunt Mel held her fingers tightly together, "close to reporting you missing and if Scott hadn't talked to that professor of yours, I would have and how embarrassing would that have been, huh?"
Professor. Walker. Professor Walker.
"You do your part," the woman named Marin said to Walker, "and we'll do ours."
Her part.
Oh, God. They don't know, Joe realized and it nearly broke her right there on the spot. They don't know. Ding ding ding. They don't know. Ding ding ding ding ding. The alarm bells rose to loud gonging in her mind, her subconscious putting its back into making her realize what was happening! They - don't - know.
Aunt Mel was still talking, but Joe didn't hear her anymore. They didn't know. They didn't know. And Aunt Mel was angry with her because of it and they didn't even know. All this and they didn't even know. How was that even possible? How could they not know?
The puzzle pieces clanged into place as she watched Aunt Mel's mouth move, never pulling into a smile, still explaining to Joe how this was not okay and she could not just show up here out of the blue without even calling first and okay, there were mitigating circumstances because something obviously had happened to Jimmy and what had happened to Jimmy anyway and did this have something to do with those guys who came after Isaac and-
And Joe became the third person to collapse in the hospital since they got there. Not fainting, not passing out, just keeling over, stumbling into a free chair in the hallway.
"Okay, yeah, that might have been a little harsh," Aunt Mel said breathlessly as she helped Joe sit up straight. Her hands — hands that had patched up Joe countless of times — went on autopilot to check Joe's vital signs. They were fine. Physically, she was fine. "And your friend almost died less than an hour ago, so I should probably have shown a bit more tact, sorry, sweetheart, chalk it up to stress. I just, if you wanted this to be a surprise, you kind of missed the mark big-time."
How was she going to tell them? So many words and explanations pushed themselves into the forefront of Joe's brain, but... they hadn't even known! It explained so much — although not how they didn't know, but that they didn't know because they were just slightly happy to see her, not relieved, not overjoyed, more confused now that she thought of it and...
They hadn't known. All this time, all this pain, all this mess — and they hadn't known. Why hadn't they known? How? She had to figure it out. He was always ten steps ahead, she had to figure it out.
"Joe," Aunt Mel said from where she crouched on the floor in front of Joe who stared blindly at her, "I was worried. Bottom line. I'm glad you're back, but please don't do that again."
And instead of saying what she should have said, Joe whispered: "I won't."
Disclaimer: Do not take any medical advice from this fic. Like at all.
(If this chapter is confusing, it's because Joe is a tiny little bit confused herself.)
(Also, I know it's early, but it's technically Jan 21st in Norway and I'm just so buzzed from the inauguration I wanted to celebrate. Congratulations, USA! Btw, Amanda Gorman is my new idol, she was breathtaking in so many ways.)
Side-note: If you want a throwback to the good ol' days, I uploaded Chapter 1 from Derek's POV in "The Realist" (as chapter 4, just to make it confusing), so check that out if you want to :)
Now...
Guys, based on some Guest-reviews on the last chapter, I just want to clear up a few things:
- Season 3A is the final arc for Derek and Joe; they will without a shadow of a doubt be together before 3B starts
- Joe is not always going to be the most likable character in 3A and she will have other priorities than getting busy with Derek
- Likewise, Derek will have other priorities than getting busy with Joe
- Things will get worse (a lot worse) before it gets better
Season 3A is where I got the idea for the story in the first place and I have already written the season in its entirety, so I won't change the overall plot at this point. Especially not based on aggressively critical reviews. Sorry.
Moving forward, I'm going to take a page from AO3 review-etiquette here and ask that you don't leave harsh criticism about my OC or plot anymore. I'm sorry and if that puts you off reviewing, then so be it. I would still love to hear your theories, thoughts, and general feedback, but the only thing reviews like (some of) the Guest-reviews on chapter 59 accomplishes is that I second-guess everything and stop posting. I'm only human, after all, and this is only fanfiction.
This a general warning: Season 3 is going to get a little dark, complicated, and at times frustrating before we reach a happy ending. If you're not into that, you should stop reading now. Thank you for the support so far! Everyone else, buckle up and get ready ^^