Til The Dawn [Midnights #1] ✓

chapter 31

Peter ran headlong through the trees, pausing every few yards to sniff the air. The crunch of the dead leaves under foot were the only other sounds that he found surrounding him now, but it wasn't as comforting as it had been in the past. Especially since he was coming up with absolutely nothing. Negative amounts of nothing, in fact. If that were possible.

He stopped and sighed heavily, putting his hands on his hips after another couple of feet as the frustration took hold. But as his phone rang in his pocket, Derek's name showing up on the caller ID, accompanied by a silly picture of him, one that he knew he was never allowed to show another living soul, the exasperation faded just as quickly.

"Hey, did you find anything?" Peter asked, instead of saying hello.

He knew he didn't need to bother with niceties now. They were in the middle of an investigation. But he was sure to keep his tone as lighthearted as possible. Being curt with Derek wasn't an option either. Because as tough and stoic as he seemed, his nephew was pretty sensitive.

"Hey," Derek replied, a heavy sigh of his own lingering in his words. "I can't smell a damn thing. It's been too long," he groaned. "Too many people have been over and over this place."

"It's all right," Peter returned. "We'll figure it out. I mean, it is a murder scene, right? Makes sense there's nothing left. I bet you the cops probably took every piece of evidence to be had. And that's, more than likely, what whoever did this was counting on. Especially if they were planning it and not just... you know, trapped in the woods and panicking."

"Yeah, I guess," Derek huffed. "Want me to come back over there with you?"

"Sure," Peter agreed readily. "We'll, uh, head home. We can regroup. Maybe the video store next or something."

"Yeah, that's, uh..."

Derek's voice filtered off until he was silent again, his sentence unfinished. "Derek? You there?"

Peter pulled his phone from his ear to check that the line was active, and as soon as he saw the timer was still going on their call, he put it back. "Yeah, uh, sorry," Derek answered. "I'm coming back."

"Okay, well..."

"Hang on," Derek interrupted, whispering frantically. "Someone else is here. I don't recognize the scent."

And before Peter could even respond, or tell Derek to get the fuck out of there, a shot rang out on his nephew's side of the call and he let out a deep, feral growl in response.

"Derek!" Peter shouted into the receiver, clutching it tighter in his hands. "Are you okay? What's going on? Talk to me!"

"I'm fine," Derek grumbled, seeming more irritated than hurt. "Just got me in the shoulder. Assholes."

"Who?"

But Derek didn't respond. He just kept walking. His pace measured, tempered. Maybe even calm. And Peter wasn't sure why, but it unnerved him. Someone had just shot his only living blood relative and Derek was acting like they'd accidentally kicked him in the shin or something. Granted, the way they healed meant it probably felt similar, but even if they hadn't meant to do it, or they'd mistaken him for an animal, he had been shot. And in the place where someone else had been recently murdered, no less.

"Shit," Derek mumbled finally. "Shit. Shit. Shit. It's... it's hunters, Peter. Has to be. Silver. It's... spreading."

Every word was now labored, as if it was becoming more difficult for Derek to breathe by the second. In turn, Peter's heart rate skyrocketed just about the time he heard a dull thud from the other end of the phone.

"Derek?" he shrieked. "Derek! I'm coming. Just hang on, all right?"

As he ran, more frenzied and unrestrained than before, he never let the phone get too far from his ear. He knew that Derek's had fallen when he had, no longer near his face, but he felt closer to him somehow with this tenuous connection in place. And he was gasping to catch his breath by the time he fell to his knees next to Derek's lifeless body, unsure of how he'd found him so quickly. Wondering if he'd been fast enough.

"Derek?" he asked softly, feeling for a pulse. "Derek, can you hear me?"

No response. Not good. Not good. Not good.

Peter rolled him over, finding a faint pulse in his neck near his carotid artery at last, causing him to spring into further action. He hung up with Derek, whose phone was lying in a pile of broken twigs and bloodied grass not too far away, and promptly dialed the number for the only person who might be able to save his last lifeline to humanity: Alan Deaton.

"Hello?" the other man asked after several tortuous seconds. "Peter?"

"Derek's been shot," he blurted out. "I'm bringing him over. It's silver bullets."

"What?" Deaton screeched. "What are you talking about? There's no hunters in town."

"Of all the times we shouldn't have this discussion, now pretty much tops that list," Peter replied snarkily. "I'm bringing him in. Meet me there."

"Yep."

The line went dead once more and Peter dropped the phone into his pocket, scrambling to grab Derek's as well, before hoisting him up and laying his arm across his shoulders. Then he staggered toward the car, the added solid muscular frame he was toting doing him no favors. Graciously, the car was nearby, and he wasn't sure which god was responsible for this, or if it was just kismet, but right now, he'd take it. As it stood, it could very well be the thing that ensured Derek made it through the night.

Of course, as soon as he was on a road that wasn't dirt again, he was driving way too recklessly. But with each strangled moan that fell past Derek's lips, he only found himself going faster. And before he could even register he was back in town, he was pulling up to the Beacon Hills Vet Clinic, where Deaton was waiting as promised.

He helped Peter retrieve Derek from the passenger seat, and they hurried inside before they were spotted. Because while Peter had no idea what was actually going on right now, and couldn't exactly stop and figure it out, he imagined it was safer to just go ahead and assume they were being watched at all times.

As soon as Derek was laid out on the steel table, his shirt entirely discarded after Deaton had cut it off with a pair of surgical scissors, Peter began to pace. He knew he looked like a caged animal, but that's exactly how he felt. It seemed appropriate. But his mind wasn't letting him go to the dark places either. The ones where Derek might not make it. And he knew it had to do with the fact that his entire body, his brain very much included, was now operating on pure, undiluted survival instinct.

"Listen, instead of muttering to yourself, come over here and help me," Deaton instructed, his hands a flurry of activity. "His healing is suppressed, but not all the way. And I'm not fast enough. He keeps scarring over what's left of the bullet, and he needs it all out. It hit the bone. It shattered, it looks like," he explained. "Obviously, you can't touch it," Deaton replied when he heard Peter scoff. "But I could use your eyes here."

He nodded, unable to completely hide the sniffles as he wiped his eyes. "Are... are you going to be able to save him?"

"I think so. If I can find all the silver," Deaton reiterated.

"And if you can't?" Peter gulped.

Deaton stopped, glanced up at him, and then down to Derek's rapidly blackening veins. "The poison spreads and he dies."

Peter took a shaky breath, his mouth set in a firm line, as he nodded again. "Well, we're just not going to let that happen then, huh?"

Deaton jerked his own head in way of a nod as they both fell silent, both now clearly determined not to let another Hale die in their godforsaken town.