Broken Roots ✵ Derek Hale

Second Chance At First Line ✵ 2.3

⚲ ON THE ROAD, Beacon Hills

Stiles and Scott zoom out of the dense woods in the trusty Jeep. Stiles is behind the wheel, navigating the winding paths with practiced ease, while Scott sits in the passenger seat, furrowing his brows at his phone screen, attempting to find any information about wolfsbane's peculiar role in burials.

"I can't find anything about wolfsbane being used for burial," Scott grumbles impatiently.

"Just keep looking. Maybe it's like a ritual or something? Like, maybe they bury you as a wolf," Stiles suggests, his mind filling with possibilities. He chews on his tongue thoughtfully for a moment, then offers another theory. "Or, maybe it's like a special skill, you know? Like, something you have to learn?"

Scott, feeling overwhelmed by the complexities of the werewolf lore, rolls his eyes and sighs heavily, "I'll put it on my 'To Do' list, right underneath 'figuring out how the hell I'm playing this game tonight.'"

But his friend is too engrossed in his mental gymnastics to register Scott's sarcasm, "Maybe it's different for girl Werewolves..."

Scott, who has been gradually growing more irritated, finally snaps, "Okay, stop it!"

Confused, Stiles frowns, "Stop what?"

Scott's tone turns dark with frustration, "Stop saying 'Werewolves!' Stop enjoying this so much!"

Concern creases Stiles' brow, "Are you okay?"

Scott's aggravation boils over as he responds in a tense voice, doubled over in his seat as though in pain, "No. I'm so far from being okay."

Stiles observes Scott's distress with growing concern, noticing the sheen of sweat coating his skin and the onset of rapid breathing. Despite his discomfort, he refuses to accept what's happening.

"You know, you're gonna have to accept this, Scott. Sooner or later," Stiles says, tinged with worry, but Scott, doubled over and struggling to catch his breath, protests, "I can't."

Stiles insists firmly, "Well, you're gonna have to."

Desperation laces Scott's voice as he gasps for air, "No! I can't breathe..."

A guttural groan rips from the young werewolf's throat, sending shivers down Stiles' spine. Panic sets in as Scott thumps his hand against the roof of the Jeep and cries out in agony.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa...!" Stiles reacts instinctively, swerving the car in shock, which only intensifies Scott's pain.

"AHH! Pull over!" Scott demands, his voice strained with anguish.

Confused and alarmed, Stiles questions, "Why? What's happening?"

Scott's gaze falls on the backpack between them, where the wolfsbane plant and the rope with flowers are stowed. He looks at Stiles angrily, "You kept it?"

"What was I supposed to do with it???"

Scott's condition worsens in the presence of the wolfsbane, his groans growing louder as he teeters on the brink of transformation. "Stop the car!"

Stiles' heart pounds with fear as he watches Scott's eyes flicker to a bright gold. In a panic, he slams on the brakes. "Okay!"

As soon as the car comes to a stop, Stiles flings open the door and lunges out, his heart pounding with urgency. He snatches his backpack and hurls it away, desperate to create distance between the backpack and his friend. Breathing heavily, he watches the bag disappear into the distance, but as the bag lands and Stiles takes a moment to catch his breath, a sinking feeling settles in his stomach. His gaze snaps back to the Jeep, and dread washes over him when he sees it empty, no sign of Scott's presence.