Deaton stared down at the silver shards in the little pan that he'd spent the better part of an hour removing from Derek's body, and Peter struggled to stay quiet as he watched the other man. His mouth was moving, like he might be counting the pieces, but Peter wanted an update.

Scratch that. Peter needed an update. Like, yesterday.

"I think... I think I got it all out," Deaton finally murmured. "I'm fairly certain, anyway. The, uh, the effects should wear off soon. And it's going to take a few days for him to recover, obviously, but I think he should be fine." After another second, he put his hands on his hips and looked up, meeting Peter's eyes. "I'll monitor him here to make sure I didn't miss anything, if that's all right with you," he tacked on.

"Of course. Yeah. Thank you, Deaton," Peter said, sighing deeply in relief. "I owe you. Seriously, any favor you ever need."

Deaton shook his head and chuckled, his hands falling to his sides. "I'll hold you to that." His smile faded as he looked down at Derek again. "You and Derek are good people, Peter. I couldn't have ever just stood by and let something happen to him. No matter what our history. Honestly, I'm, uh, more concerned about why this happened."

Peter gave a nod, unsure of what other information Deaton thought he was holding onto, refusing to reveal. At the moment, Peter was as in the dark about all this as anybody else in town. Which, he had to admit, wasn't a great feeling.

"As far as I know," Deaton continued, "the Argents are the only hunters in town, and you've had a truce with them since before the fire. A truce that's widely known among other hunting families, right?"

"Trust me," Peter said, "I've thought of all of that. I'm not any closer to an answer, though. But I have been thinking about it."

He stepped closer to the table, moving his hand out of the way of the silver. Even in its little bowl, Peter didn't feel comfortable being right next to it.

"Between you and me," Peter pressed, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"I can see that," Deaton agreed, reaching up and patting him on the shoulder. "You've got a rogue Alpha running around who likely bit Scott and is now killing people. And a group of hunters shooting at you. I'd be surprised if you did know how to handle this." Deaton gave a gentle smile. "But, uh, have you thought of how it might all be connected?"

"It's possible, I guess," Peter conceded. "I really don't see how, though. Derek and I have been looking for days, and have zero leads, man. It's almost like whoever is doing this, really doesn't want us to find anything."

"Exactly," Deaton emphasized.

"But the who and the why are driving me crazy," Peter confessed, letting his head drop. "If it was just someone passing through, they would've passed by now. If it was someone who'd come to take over Beacon Hills, they would just do it outright. There's only two of us. It's just... none of this adds up, Deaton."

"If they got you two out of the way, and made it look like an accident, they could swoop in and have it appear as if they're doing everyone a favor," Deaton speculated.

"Without an obvious takeover, the packs close by would have to convene and select a new one to keep Beacon Hills safe. A rogue Alpha wouldn't qualify, in their eyes. And not even a pack that's new, really, you know? They'd even have to select a new Emissary. With the Nemeton here, you can't really do it another way," Peter explained. "It may not be active, or whatever, but it's still right down the street. That's not going to change."

"But what if this other pack doesn't know that?" Deaton retorted. "What if they don't know about the Nemeton at all and just see a vulnerable little town?"

"It's... it's possible," Peter mumbled, chewing on the idea. "What about the bullet that hit Derek? Anything significant about it? Besides it being silver."

Deaton shook his head sadly, staring pensively at the bullet fragments like he might be able to discern important information from them if he just looked hard enough. "I can run further tests. Some hunters use specific compounds to strengthen their bullets. But I can't guarantee anything. And the results might take me a while."

Peter shrugged. "Right now, it's the only lead we have."

Deaton nodded and turned to place the shards next to his high-resolution microscope before wheeling around to face Peter again. He bit his bottom lip, a nervous tick that Peter had learned about over the years. Which did not bode well. Whatever he wanted to or was going to say next, Peter probably wasn't going to like it. Or agree with it.

"I know you don't want to consider this, Peter, but we might be making this more complicated than it is," Deaton announced.

Peter slid his hands into his pockets, figuring this was coming at some point, and wanting very much not to address the elephant in the room.

"Let's not do this dance," Deaton pressed. "The one where you pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about because you always turn a blind eye to the Argents, and then I have to try and punch through your surly facade to your warm, gooey center, all right?"

Peter huffed and rolled his eyes. "I don't have a warm, gooey center," he grumbled.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Deaton proclaimed. "I just think sometimes you don't want to see things right in front of you because it would mean that not everyone you've called your friend over the years are actually good people. And sometimes that can prove to be deadly." Deaton let his words hang in the air, and Peter imagined they were both seeing images of his sister and nieces flitting through their minds. "A rogue Alpha and a rogue hunting group in the same place for no reason would be extremely coincidental and highly unlikely. This seems targeted, Peter. And the renewed presence of the Argents in Beacon Hills makes it seem like they might just be involved. If they made a deal with that Alpha to run..."

Peter raised a hand and cut Deaton off. "It's not the Argents," he interjected. "I know not all hunters do, but the Argents stick to the code, Deaton. They wouldn't break it."

"It doesn't have to be all of them," Deaton countered quickly. "It could even just be one person within their ranks. Someone who knows enough to take advantage of the situation. It happens more often than you think."

"Not the Argents," Peter refuted adamantly. "Besides, there's no point. Like I said, if someone wanted to take over, it would be easy enough to remove Derek and myself without some grand conspiracy. We've been down and out for a long time. And I'm going to fix that, but it's going to take me a little bit. Just... just run the tests. Hopefully they'll tell us something we can work with. For now, we don't know who it is or what they want, and I don't want you to suggest otherwise to Derek or Scott, okay?"

"Of course not," Deaton said curtly "You're right. We need more definitive evidence. I'll, uh, keep Scott away from work for a few days so Derek can recover here. I'll tell him I don't need him. You can head him off by keeping him busy with other stuff so he and Stiles don't figure it out."

"No problem," Peter returned. "Thanks again, Deaton. I really appreciate it."

"I really do think Derek is in the clear," Deaton assured him. "But if anything happens, I can take care of it right away."

Peter let out another sigh, this one even heavier than the last. Like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And at the moment, it didn't feel that far off the mark. "I'm going to go back to the spot where this happened and see if I can find something. Maybe a clue."

"I'll call when Derek wakes up, or if anything changes," Deaton promised.

"If you need me to pick up anything on the way back, let me know."

"I will. Stay safe, Peter."

Peter bit the inside of his cheek as he stared down at Derek's face for a long second, not turning to face Deaton again and risk him seeing the tears pooling in his eyes as he rushed out the front door. The crisp night air hit him square in the face as he crossed the threshold, and Peter let a quiet sob escape his lips. One too hushed for human ears to pick up.

He'd never admit it now, but his mind had raced ahead of him earlier. It had started to plan a life without Derek, much like he'd been forced to do after his sister's death all those years ago. Almost a knee-jerk reaction from his heart, to shield it from further pain. The logistics were easier to deal with than the grief. He'd already lost so many people he loved, people he thought he'd die without, and he'd just gone ahead and assumed Derek was next before he'd given himself permission to inhabit the darker parts of his mind.

And as he got behind the wheel, determined to find something in those woods once and for all, the guilt took over. A white-hot poker of shame. And he wondered if he'd ever forgive himself for letting yet another family member end up in Deaton's office, fighting for their life.