☾

Sitting in the back of the jeep with Stiles and Derek is more awkward for me than my very first date back in New York. And that was super awkward. It's awkward for me because I only know that Derek has been shot and isn't dead yet, and for some unknown reason, Stiles isn't taking him to the hospital. So that tells me Derek probably isn't human, and he has something to do with whatever's going on with Scott and Stiles.

And whatever is going on with Derek, it's giving off a rotting stench that is filling the car. It's very pungent, almost impossible to ignore.

"Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats, okay? We're almost there," Stiles grouses, clearly annoyed. It doesn't seem like he can smell the rotting stench that is coming off of Derek, making me envious of him. What I wouldn't do so I wouldn't have the pungent scent burning my nostrils.

"Almost where?" Derek asks, voice low and rough.

"Your house," Stiles says in a duh tone.

"What? No, you can't take me there," Derek protests, vehemently.

"We can't take you to your own house?" Stiles and I question at the same time, incredulously.

How can we not take him to his house? How are we not taking him to a hospital? This is so fucking confusing...

"Not when I can't protect myself," Derek retorts.

Stiles pulls over to the curb and kills the engine, twisting his body around to face the older man. "What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? Hmm? Are you dying?" Stiles questions, fed up with the older man.

"Not yet," Derek says, his breathing sounding a bit labored. "I have a last resort."

"What do you mean? What last resort?" Stiles chuckles humorlessly at the end.

Derek pulls up the sleeve of his Henley, revealing a bloody gaping hole just below the inside of his elbow. "Oh, my God. What is that?" Stiles recoils, obviously repulsed. The potent smell of something rotting hits me like a wave, but because of my rather strong stomach at the sight of gory things, all I do is scrunch up my nose and grimace. "Oh, is that contagious? You know what, you should probably just get out."

"Start the car," Derek orders. "Now."

"I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay? In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead," Stiles threatens, sounding beyond annoyed right now.

There's that word again: werewolf.

"Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out... With my teeth," he retaliates calmly, making my gape at him. What is this dude's problem, if he has no problem with threatening to kill someone?

They stare at each other for a few moments before Stiles looks at the road and starts the engine again, sighing.

I mentally groan and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes as I try ton process all of this; Derek is a werewolf, according to what Stiles said. "This is insane," I whisper to myself.

☾

"What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles hisses to Scott through the phone. We're pulled over to the curb after a few hours of driving, and now it's dark out. I can hear what Scott says, thanks to my unusually sensitive hearing. When this is all over, I've gotta ask someone about this.

"Take him somewhere, anywhere."

"And by the way, he's starting to smell," Stiles complains and I nod even though he can't see me.

"Like–like what?"

"Like death," Stiles and I say at the same time as I poke my head in between them, but closer to Stiles.

He snaps his head towards me, the tips of our noses almost touching and making me realize how close our faces are, so I pull my head back a bit. His cheeks turn a light pink like mine and his eyes are inquisitive as he inspects me, probably confused about how I'm able to hear Scott. To completely honest, I don't even know how it's possible, myself. All I know is that I have some enhanced senses.

Scott pauses for a couple moments before responding, "Okay, take him to the animal clinic." What about his boss?

"What about your boss?" Stiles voices my thoughts, turning his head from me.

"He's gone by now," Scott informs him. "There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster."

Stiles heaves out a breath and hands Derek his phone. "You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you," he groans.

"Did you find it?" Is the first thing that came out of Derek's mouth.

"How am I supposed to find one bullet? They have a million. This house is like... The fricken' Walmart of guns," Scott says. I nod to myself, remembering that Allison told me her dad sells firearms to law enforcement.

"Look, if you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right?" Derek says, trying to give the teen some incentive.

"I'm starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Scott mutters.

"Then think about this. The Alpha called you out against your will. He's gonna do it again. Next time you either kill with him or you get killed. So if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet."

☾

We get to the clinic in no time, easily finding the spare key Scott told us about. I have to help Derek into the back, without Stiles. I happen to be five-foot and weigh only a little over a hundred pounds, so try to imagine it when I have to lug in about two hundred pounds of Derek Hale. And most of that weight is probably pure muscle.

I know I should probably stay in the car and out of this, but I'm not gonna. I'm apart of this now, whether or not Stiles and Scott like it. They can't play it off, lie to me, or keep me out of it, not with my internal lie detector and stubbornness.

"Does Nordic blue monkshood mean anything to you?" Stiles asks, turning around to us and looking up from his phone.

"It's a rare form of wolfsbane," Derek answers from his spot on bags of birdseed, his skin paler in the light and glistening with sweat, biceps bulging as he holds his injured arm. "He needs to bring me the bullet."

"Why?" I ask, already fearing his answer.

"'Cause I'm gonna die without it," he answers once more. I knew it, I called it.

There's a long moment of silence before I huff and gently take Derek's shoulder. "Alright, then, let's get you into the examination room," I announce, helping the older man up. He may be an asshole but I won't let him die when I know I can help him.

I wrap his arm around my shoulder and my own around his waist, trying to ignore out solid his muscles are. He may be an attractive, older man but I only have eyes for a certain buzz-cut boy.

Speaking of him, I catch his whiskey eyes which are filled with dread, annoyance and... Jealousy? If he's jealous that means he... I shake my head lightly. This is so not the time for that.

Stiles leads us through the door and towards what I guess is the examination room, opening one door and I follow him into the dark room, struggling to help Derek in since he let go of my shoulder and is instead starting to take off his shirt. As I let go of him Stiles turns on the lights and we move to stand on the opposite side of the silver table from Derek. He took off his shirt, revealing his muscular torso, which I try to not let distract me, but when he leans his wounded arm on the table, my attention goes to that part of his body. Faint black veins run up and down his arm, originating from the bloody hole which looks way worse than before.

"You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of," Stiles comments, trying to get out of this and away from the blood.

Gods, I hope he doesn't have faint. That's not something we need right now with Derek's condition.

"When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me," Derek pants.

"'Positivity' just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Stiles asks sarcastically. My eyes are drawn to the space between his shoulder blades as he turns around to rummage through the cabinets. It's a black tattoo, three spirals. Triskele, or Triple Spiral. I read about it while in New York, a book on Celtic mythology and symbols.

"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time... Last resort."

"Which is?" Stiles asks.

My eyes widen and I can feel the color drains from my face, well, whatever color I have, when Derek holds up a miniature saw. "Either one of you is gonna cut off my arm."

Oh, hell no.

I have a strong stomach for blood and gore, but I draw the line at amputation.

Derek slides the saw over to Stiles who lifts it up, turning it on. "Oh, my God," he exclaims, turning it off and placing it back on the table. The older man has one end of a blue plastic tourniquet in his mouth and starts to wrap it around his bicep.

Stiles leans his forearms against the metal table as he asks, "What if you bleed to death?" I subtly shift closer to his body, hoping I don't have to do the cutting.

"It'll heal if it works," Derek mutters, voice a little muffled by the plastic in his mouth.

"Ugh. Look... I don't if I can do this," Stiles says, throwing me a pleading look which I return with raised eyebrows.

"Don't look at me! I draw the line at amputating someone!" I explain emphatically, kinda annoyed at the suggestion. Do I look like I could amputate someone? No.

"Why not?" Derek asks, still muffled as he ties the ends. I could tell he's annoyed. Same here, Derek, same here.

"Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!" Stiles exclaims, his voice a few octaves higher when he says the last word.

"And the bone dust that could give us lung cancer!" I add, slight venom lacing my tone. I'd rather not get frickin' lung cancer from amputating Derek Hale's arm.

"You faint at the sight of blood?" Derek asks incredulously, ignoring my little tidbit about the bone dust and lung cancer. Prick.

"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!" Stiles retorts sarcastically, voice raising slightly.

"All right, fine," Derek huffs. "How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your girlfriend's head."

I glare at him, partially because of the threat and because of the label he gave me. Girlfriend. Despite the situation, my face is red. And Stiles isn't denying it or even looks the least bit embarrassed... That's interesting.

"Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any—" Stiles starts but is cut off when Derek grabs the front of his open button-down shirt and yanks him forward. I instinctively step forward, heat flashing through my eyes as the instinct to protect Stiles takes over me. I glare threateningly at Derek; I don't care if he's a werewolf or an invalid right now, I'll fight him.

He ignores my glaring and instead stares menacingly at the pale boy.

"Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold. Totally. I'll do it. I'll do it," Stiles rambles. Derek makes a weird noise in the back of his throat and moves his head towards the side of the table but he doesn't let go of his shirt. "What? What are you doing?" Stiles asks just as Derek leans his head over the side of the table and throws up black liquid, letting go of him.

My stomach twists slightly as I jump away from it, my body bumping into Stiles who places a hand on my waist, holding me there. "Боже Божи," I exclaim, jaw slack. I usually don't speak Bulgarian around people but I'm surprised and it just slipped.

"Holy God," Stiles says the same thing as me, just in English, "What the hell is that?" His voice is a few octaves higher than normal, again.

"It's my body... Trying to heal itself," Derek heaves out.

"Well, it's not doing a very good job at it," I say sarcastically, voice slightly strained. I'm suddenly feeling overwhelmed by all of this. Who wouldn't, though?

"Now. You gotta do it now," Derek says, leaning the side of his head on the table.

Stiles is silent for a couple moments, looking at the saw before responding, his face scrunched up and eyes narrowed. "Look, honestly, I don't think I can," he says, probably in a last ditch effort in escaping this.

"Just do it!" Derek yells, making me jump at the sudden rise in his voice.

"Oh, my God," Stiles mutters as he takes the saw. "Okay, okay." The blade hovers just below the tourniquet, hands trembling lightly, obviously very put off by this. "Oh, my God." I place a hand on the small of his back, looking up at him even though he doesn't look at me.

"C'mon, Stiles, you can do it," I whisper encouragingly, loud enough for him to hear.

He nods once before saying loudly, "All right, here we go!"

"Stiles!"

Oh, thank you, Scott McCall, for showing up at the perfect time!

"Scott?" Stiles calls out just as the shaggy-haired boy comes into the room, eyes falling onto the scene before him.

"What the hell are you doing?" He questions, stepping closer.

Stiles chuckles breathlessly and drops the saw, relieved he doesn't have to amputate someone. "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares," Stiles replies, and I nod in agreement.

"Did you get it?" Derek asks, head still on the table.

Scott reaches into a pocket of his jeans and takes out a single bullet, handing it to Derek who stands up straight, of course with some effort. He lifts the bullet up to eye-level, blinking a few times.

"What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles and I ask in perfect unison, which makes me look over to him in the corner of my eyes; this is getting weirder and weirder.

"I'm gonna..." Derek trails off, eyelids drooping. "I'm gonna..."

He starts to fall, dropping the bullet and Scott dives for it while muttering "no" over and over while Stiles and I dive for Derek who collapses onto the ground.

"Derek!" I gasp, falling to my knees and I grab his shoulders, shaking him. "C'mon Derek!" I yell just as Stiles kneels on the other side of Derek.

"Derek," Stiles calls out, taking his face and patting his cheek. "Derek, come on, wake up. Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?"

"I don't know!" Scott yells. "I can't reach it."

"He"s not waking up!" I yell, panic surging through me.

"I think he's dying. I think he's dead!" Stiles adds.

"Just hold on!" Scott retorts just as I speak.

"He's not dead!" I snap, keeping my eyes on Derek. Furrowing my eyebrows, I concentrate hard enough to hear the faint, rhythmic thumping of his heart. At least these newfound heightened senses prove to be useful. "I can hear his heartbeat... It's weak but it's there."

Before he can question how I can hear his heartbeat, Scott speaks up. "Oh! I got it! I got it!" He declares, his relief evident in his voice.

"Please don't kill me for this," Stiles mutters, raising his fist and punches Derek in the face, instantly crying out in pain. I wince. Ooh, that's gotta hurt. But, hey, it gets Derek to wake up. "Ugh! Ow! God!"

"Give me..." Derek trails off, Scott handing him the bullet and the boys helping him up as I struggle to stand. I move over to stand next to Stiles, still feeling safe around him. Derek bites off the tip of the bullet and pours out the wolfsbane from the casing. He pulls out a lighter from his pocket and flicks it on, lighting up the pile. It sparks and flares for a moment, tendrils of blue smoke emitting from it. He proceeds to gather it up and slides it off the table and into his hand, jamming it into the hole.

He starts to scream, moving back and past us, Stiles pulling me closer to him to avoid Derek as he falls onto his back. Us teenagers move back towards the counters, watching as Derek screams and writhes in pain on the floor. But then, the veins and blood start disappearing, leading up to the bullet wound which vanishes as if it was never there. Okay, now that is awesome.

"That... Was... Awesome! Yes!" Stiles says excitedly, earning a look from Scott. I just nod with a smile, freezing when I realize I'm next to Stiles with his hand on my waist and my own hand is on the small of his back once more. Okay, this is kind of weird, but not uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks, seemingly genuine as Derek starts to sit up.

"Well, except for the agonizing pain," he replies sarcastically.

"I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," Stiles retorts just as sarcastically, Derek glaring at him when he stands up.

Well, using sarcasm is a sign of a healthy brain, so, he's not wrong.

"Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone, you got that? And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything-" Scott threatens but Derek cuts him off.

"You're gonna trust them? You think they can help you?"

"Well, why not?" Scott answers the question with a question. "They're a lot freaking nicer than you are."

"I can show you exactly how nice they are."

"What do you mean?"

☾

After Scott and Derek left, Stiles offered me a ride home which I accepted. I had asked him to stop about a block away from my house so we could walk and talk.

"So," I begin, hooking my arm with his as we walk side by side down the sidewalk. "Werewolves exist?"

"Yeah."

"Scott and Derek are werewolves?"

"Yes."

"What are you?"

"Completely human."

Okay, werewolves exist, not surprising. I've always believed in the supernatural so this isn't much of a shocker to me. And c'mon, it's Beacon Hills.

"What about you?" Stiles asks. "You said you could hear Derek's heartbeat. So, what are you?"

I shrug, slowing down our pace so I have a bit more time with him as my house comes into view. "I don't know, " I answer honestly. "The morning after the bus driver was attacked, I had all these enhanced senses. I could hear and smell things that I shouldn't be able to."

He stops us and turns me around to face him which disconnects our arms, making me look up at him since I'm still shorter than him in my heeled boots. "If you ever need someone to help you figure out what's happening to you, I'll be there. I promise," he says genuinely. There's hope and concern in his eyes that makes his light brown eyes gleam, even in the darkness.

I search his eyes, seeing an opportunity to kiss him. Shoving away my fears, I take a leap of faith.

My lips capture his in a soft kiss as I lean up, my hands on his shoulders, electricity running through me and my heart starts to pound against my ribs. He doesn't respond, the only sign is his breath catching in his throat. I also don't give him a chance to respond. I pull back and drop to my feet, embarrassment flooding through me as I shift my bag on my shoulder and start rambling out an apology.

"I'm sorry, I—I didn't—" I stutter, avoiding his eyes before I feel two large hands cupping the sides of my face and gently pulling my face up, a pair of soft lips landing on mine.

This time, it's me that's frozen as his lips move almost desperately over mine, waiting for me to respond. It takes me a couple seconds but I move my hands up and kiss him back.

I raise myself on my toes, hands going to his shoulders to keep my balance. Instead of those cliché sparks going off in my stomach, it feels like bombs are exploding, making my heart threaten to burst out of my chest and run a marathon. He tastes like mint, intoxicating and it makes me light-headed. The kiss is hard, intense, our lips locking, heads tilting in opposite directions and his nose is pressing against my cheek like mine is pressing against his. It's obvious that he's inexperienced. He's a little clumsy, but the kiss is extraordinary, nonetheless, his enthusiasm making up for his lack of experience.

Soon, we break apart for much-needed air. His breathing is shallow, fanning over my face as he leans his forehead against mine. "That was..." he trails off, unable to find the right words.

"I know," I whisper, pecking the corner of his lips before dropping to my feet. As much I'd love to remain in his embrace, I need to do something to help me get my mind off of the craziness that happened today, so I back off a little. He reluctantly lets go of me, watching with dazed eyes as I back away, giving him a grin. "I'll see you later!" I yell over my shoulder, sprinting across my lawn and to my house, energy coursing through my veins.

I can't help but grin at the fact that I just kissed Stiles Stilinski.