you're not cutting anything off anyone. take some deep breaths. think about cheerleading and harry styles and scribbles.
[ 1.04 ]
"Dude, you need to study more," Stiles said, reading Scott's test grade of a D- over his shoulder. Scott sighed helplessly. "That was a joke. Scott, it's one test. You're gonna make it up. Do you want help studying? Willow is coming to mine after school today to study. She's like the smartest girl in class."
They both glanced to the front of the classroom where the teacher had handed back Willow's test. Even from the back, they could read the big red A+ on the paper, as well as the note that informed her of five extra bonus points.
"No. I'm studying with Allison after school today," Scott told him.
Stiles grinned proudly. "That's my boy."
"We're just studying," he insisted.
"Uh, no, you're not."
"No, I'm not?" he asked, getting confused. Stiles had just told him to study.
"Not if I'm forced to live vicariously through you," Stiles whispered. "If you go to her house today and squander that colossal opportunity, I swear to God, I'll have you de-balled."
"Okay. Just stop with the questions, man," Scott said, sighing.
"Done. No more questions. No more talk about the Alpha or Derek. Especially Derek... who still scares me," he muttered.
"And what? You and Willow are allowed to just study without risk of de-balling?" Scott asked, frowning.
"I can't make a move on Willow," Stiles whispered, shaking his head. "She's so perfect and adorable and sweet. Too unattainable.
"How do you know she's unattainable?" Scott asked. Stiles had spent most of his life being in love with two girls, and in Scott's opinion, he had a better chance with Willow. "You could try flirting. She'd probably even say yes if you asked her to the Winter Formal."
"I don't even wanna risk it, dude," he admitted, frowning. "I can get over the constant rejection from Lydia whenever I try to ask her out, knowing that she'll never see me as anything. But I don't act on any feelings for Willow because her rejection? I wouldn't survive it."
Scott sighed and reached over to rub Stiles' shoulder comfortingly. It was understandable that Stiles would take friendship with Willow over nothing at all. And Scott was almost sure that he wasn't the only one to feel that way.
To the boys of Beacon Hills, Willow was an angel that floated on a bed of clouds down the hallway — as dramatic as that sounded. It was one of the reasons the boys had never told her about Scott being a werewolf. They couldn't introduce an angel to something so horrific.
☽︎
As school neared its end of the day, gossip had spread, and Lydia descended upon Allison in the hallway. Willow was at her side, a small smile on her face.
"Scott's coming over? Tonight?" Lydia questioned.
"We're just studying together," Allison replied.
"Just studying never ends with just studying. It's like getting into a hot tub. Somebody eventually cops a feel," Lydia told her.
"Well, so what are you saying?" she asked, getting confused by what she was hinting at.
"I'm just saying, you know, make sure he covers up." But Allison still had a blank look on her face. "Hello, Snow White! Do it with him with a condom."
"Are you kidding?" she asked, eyes wide. "After one date?"
"Don't be a total prude. Give him a little taste."
"Well, I - I mean, how much is a little taste?" Allison asked, clearly nervous.
"Oh, God," Lydia said, smirking. "You really like him, don't you?"
"Well, he's just different. When I first moved here, I had a plan. No boyfriends till college. I just move too much. But then I met him, and he was different," she told them. "I - I don't know. I can't explain it."
"I can. It's your brain flooding with phenylethylamine," Lydia claimed.
"What?" she asked cluelessly.
"Happy hormones," Willow simplified.
"Well, Willow, what do you think?" Allison asked, looking to her for advice. "You're closer with Scott. You don't think it's too soon?"
"Virgin Mary over here isn't going to be any help," Lydia told her, smirking. "She hasn't even had her first kiss."
"What? But you're so hot and perfect!" Allison exclaimed. All thoughts of Scott were out the window with this new information.
Willow simply shrugged, not embarrassed with Allison knowing she hadn't slept with or kissed anyone. Perhaps she would be if someone were around to listen in, but they were alone in the hallway.
"I've just never really had a boyfriend before. I go on dates—"
"Barely," Lydia interrupted.
"I sometimes go on dates," Willow corrected. "It's just never happened. But I think when it does, it'll mean more, you know? Make it more special."
"And Lydia calls me Snow White," Allison said, smiling at her.
"Willow can be Sleeping Beauty — both of you are naive, both innocent, both in dire need of romantic guidance," Lydia claimed.
"You're implying that I was raised by fairies and have never seen a man."
"Metaphorically speaking, you have never seen a man," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And when you do finally kiss someone, if I'm not the first person you tell, I'll put you six feet under."
"Understood," Willow said, grinning.
"Now I have to ask," Allison said, a mischievous smile on her lips. "If you had to pick three guys on the lacrosse team to potentially have as a first kiss, who would you pick?"
Willow thought for a moment, running through the roster in her mind. "I guess I can't say Danny since I'm not his type, even though he is a total babe. Maybe Isaac or Stiles or Jackson."
Lydia wasn't bothered by her listing her boyfriend, knowing how close the two were. There was absolutely nothing romantic there, but they were extremely close.
"Are you going to that Stiles' guy's house after school?" Lydia asked. "Kiss him."
"Just because I would be fine kissing him doesn't mean I want to."
"That doesn't make any sense," Allison said, chuckling.
"Oh, why don't you go back to figuring out how to seduce Scott, Snow White," Willow told her, rolling her eyes playfully. "Sounds like you need all the help you can get."
"I'll tell you what to do," Lydia said. "When's he coming over?"
"Right after school."
The bell for last period rang, signaling for them to hurry up. But Lydia still whispered her ideas to Allison as they continued to History. Willow would occasionally give her input as she was dubbed the Scott expert. But honestly, Allison already had that boy wrapped around her finger. She wouldn't have to try very hard at all.
☽︎
As the bell rang, everyone rushed out of school. With her Algebra book clutched to her chest, Willow met Stiles on the steps of the school.
"Hey, Benchwarmer. Ready?" she asked, grinning at him.
"Yup. I'm parked over here," he said, leading her to the parking lot. Then he recalled Scott's suggestion from first period. "You, uh, you look really nice today, Wills."
"Thanks, Stiles," she said, glancing down at her outfit. She was wearing a pink, cropped sweater that showed off a small line of her stomach and a high-waisted, pleated, white skirt. "This is my favorite skirt."
Stiles had to refrain from saying "mine too," knowing it would be far too bold to say to Willow as he admired the shorter skirt. Ever the gentlemen, he opened the passenger side door for Willow before running around to the driver's seat.
"So, I was thinking first we tackle the math homework before moving on with the English assignment," Willow said as he pulled out of the parking space.
"Yeah. As long as we don't start with chemistry. Harris has me ready to rip out what little hair I have— Ah!"
Stiles had to slam on the brakes as Derek Hale stumbled in front of his Jeep, putting up a hand to stop him.
"You've gotta be kidding me. This guy's everywhere," Stiles muttered. The cars behind them began honking angrily at him for stopping the flow of traffic.
"Oh my god!" Willow exclaimed as Derek swayed before falling over. She ignored Stiles, who shouted for her to stay in the car, and quickly unbuckled and rushed to Derek's side.
"What the hell?" Scott asked, joining them by the Jeep. "What are you doing here?"
"I was shot," Derek said through grit teeth.
"What? Y - you need a hospital," Willow said, beginning to worry about the man. Though she was ignored.
"He's not looking so good, dude," Stiles muttered.
"Why aren't you healing?" Scott asked him.
Healing?
"I can't. It was - it was a different kind of bullet," Derek told them, trying to catch his breath.
"A silver bullet?" Stiles asked.
Silver bullet?
"No, you idiot," Derek said, glaring at him.
"Wait, wait," Scott mumbled, thinking hard about something. "That's what she meant when she said you had forty-eight hours."
"What? Who - who said forty-eight hours?" Derek asked.
"The one who shot you."
"Scott, if you know who shot him, you should go to the police — oh my god!" Willow fell back on her hands when Derek took in a deep, pained breath and his eyes started to glow a blue color.
"What are you doing?" Scott asked, looking at the stunned Willow and the rest of the parking lot. "Stop that!"
"I'm trying to tell you, I can't!" Derek snapped, his eyes flashing from green to blue and back repeatedly.
"Derek, get up!" Scott said, getting frustrated. But it seemed Derek couldn't move on his own. More and more people were honking, and some were beginning to get out of their cars to see what the holdup was. So, Scott grabbed Derek and pulled him to his feet. "Help me put him in your car."
As Stiles opened the passenger side door, Willow remained on the ground, watching with wide eyes as Scott helped Derek in the car.
"I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used," Derek told Scott.
"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" he asked.
"Cause she's an Argent. She's with them."
"Why should I help you?"
"Because you need me."
"Fine. I'll try," Scott finally gave in. Then he glanced at Willow, grimacing. "Willow, get in the car."
Willow shook her head, not taking her eyes off of Derek's glowing ones.
Stiles sighed and hooked his hands under her arms, pulling her up effortlessly given that she didn't even move to fight him. "You gotta get in the car, Wills."
Willow reluctantly let him put her in the backseat on the driver's side before he got behind the wheel.
"Get him out of here," Scott ordered.
Stiles glanced between the injured Derek and the terrified Willow, knowing the next few hours of his life were not going to be fun. "I hate you for this so much," he muttered before speeding away.
☽︎
"Scott's a werewolf?"
"Yes."
"Derek's a werewolf?"
"Yup."
"Allison is a werewolf hunter?"
"Not yet but she probably will be."
"There's an evil alpha that bit Scott and then killed Laura Hale and the bus driver?"
"You're remembering these details quite well."
Stiles had explained everything they knew as quickly as he could. He was thankful that Willow was so smart and didn't interrupt to ask so many dumb questions like Scott often did. Derek had been silently dying of pain in the passenger seat during the whole thing.
"How are you processing it all?" Stiles asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. Willow had a freshly manicured nail in her mouth, biting it nervously.
"Um, not to sound like a total baby but can I sleep at your place tonight?" she asked, her voice sounding rather small. Her father wouldn't be home that night, and she'd likely spend the entire time curled in the corner, crying every time a shadow passed her window. "I don't want to be home alone and I'd feel safer with you."
Derek scoffed weakly. "Yeah. Cause he can protect you."
"Shut up," Stiles snapped, rolling his eyes. He then checked his phone. Scott had texted that he needed more time.
Willow watched Derek quietly, who seemed to be getting worse and worse. After a moment, he struggled to remove his leather jacket, so Willow leaned forward to help remove it from his injured arm. As soon as he felt her touch him, he froze and his eyes snapped to her, suddenly very alert.
"I - I was just trying to help," she said hesitantly. After a second, the look in his eyes softened and the tension left his shoulders. He silently let Willow help him take off the jacket, and she placed it in the back seat.
"Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats, okay? We're almost there," Stiles said, eying the bloodstains on Derek's long sleeve shirt.
"Almost where?" Derek asked, his head hanging low.
"Your house."
"What?" Derek asked, alarmed. "No, you can't take me there."
"I can't take you to your own house?"
"Not when I can't protect myself," he told him.
"He's right. I mean, what if the... hunters—" Just saying the word felt ridiculous. "—are there waiting for him?"
Stiles sighed in annoyance. Of course, Willow would take the injured werewolf's side. He quickly pulled his Jeep over on the side of the road.
"All right. What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? Hmm? Are you dying?" he asked, raising his voice.
"Not yet. I have a last resort," Derek said vaguely.
"What do you mean? What last resort?"
Then Derek pulled up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing the bullet hole. It was leaking blood and pus, and dark veins were crawling up his arm. Willow immediately cringed away, pushing her back as far into the backseat as she could, keeping her eyes off the wound. Her stomach felt queasy just looking at it.
"Oh, my God. What is that?" Stiles asked, freaking out at the sight of it. "Oh, is that contagious? You know what, you should probably just get out."
"Stiles!" Willow whined. "You can't throw him out in this condition."
"No, Willow. I can!" he insisted.
"Start the car," Derek ordered weakly. "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," he threatened.
"Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out — with my teeth." Even pale and exhausted and dying, Derek Hale was still terrifying. Stiles wordlessly started the Jeep back up and pulled onto the road.
"I'll fill your tank back up when this is over," Willow offered, knowing that driving around and waiting for Scott would eat up a lot of gas.
After a while of uncomfortable silence, Willow dug through the mess in Stiles' backseat before finding a towel and bottle of water. The towel smelled like sweat from lacrosse practice, but it was better than nothing.
"Can I see your arm?" Willow asked softly, leaning in between the two seats as she looked at Derek.
"Why?" he asked, his eyebrows scrunched up.
"So I can clean it. It doesn't need to get infected," she told him, thinking of all the medical knowledge she knew from her father.
"It's already infected," he said grumpily.
"Don't snap at Willow!" Stiles said, glaring at him. "She's probably the only person on the planet who will ever be nice to you — which you don't deserve. You deserve to be left on the side of the road like a dead armadillo—"
"Stiles, stop it," Willow said. "He's really hurt and he needs our help — rude or not."
Stiles grumbled to himself and continued to drive as the sun went down. Willow spared a look at Derek and was about to sit back in her seat, but then he slowly moved his arm toward her, silently giving her permission.
Willow was as gentle as possible when she poured the water over it and cleaned up the blood on his arm. It didn't make it hurt worse, and Derek quietly admitted to himself that the cold water felt a little nice. Something about the way the hand that wasn't cleaning the wound was comfortingly brushing against the inside of his wrist felt nice too.
"It's already dark out. What is Scott doing? Having tea with them?" Stiles asked, annoyed at his friend's inability to complete his one job.
"Just call him, Stiles," Willow told him, leaning her head against the window.
They were honestly surprised that Scott even picked up when Stiles called. He hadn't been replying to texts for the last hour.
"What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles asked. The annoyance and desperation were clear in his tone.
"Take him somewhere, anywhere," Scott said, his voice filling the Jeep as Stiles had him on speakerphone.
"And, by the way, he's starting to smell," Stiles complained.
"Like - like what?" Scott asked while Derek eyed Stiles.
"Like death!"
"That's mean," Willow said, hitting the back of Stiles' seat. "It's true. But it's mean."
"Okay, take him to the animal clinic," Scott decided.
"What about Dr. Deaton?" Willow asked, leaning toward the phone.
"He's gone by now. There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster," he explained.
"You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you," Stiles muttered, looking at Derek. Then he handed him the phone, rubbing his forehead.
"Did you find it?" Derek asked.
"How am I supposed to find one bullet? They have a million. This house is like the fricken' Walmart of guns," Scott complained. Willow must have been particularly unobservant because she hadn't seen a single gun in her multiple visits to the Argent household.
"Look, if you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right?" Derek reminded him.
"I'm starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Scott said.
"Scott!" Willow hissed. "No!"
"Then think about this," Derek told him in a calm tone. "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."
Stiles drove the three of them to the animal clinic as fast as he possibly could. The parking lot was empty as they arrived.
"I'll get the spare key. You get him," Stiles ordered, scrambling out of the Jeep. He just didn't want to be alone with Derek.
"He's like twice my size!" Willow exclaimed. Stiles simply shrugged and ran off, leaving Willow by the Jeep.
She sighed and opened Derek's door. It took a lot of effort to get him down without him falling over. His good arm was draped over her shoulder and both of hers were wrapped around his waist.
"God, you're heavy," she complained, leading him toward the back entrance.
"It's muscle," he mumbled.
"Well, it's heavy muscle," she stated as they reached the door.
Stiles opened it up for them and then checked the text he had received from Scott.
"Does Nordic Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?" he asked.
"It's a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet," Derek explained.
"Why?"
"Cause I'm gonna die without it."
"N - no one is dying," Willow said, shaking her head. "Come on. There should be bandages and things in the operating room."
Stiles led the way to the room where Dr. Deaton operated on the animals, holding the door open for Derek and Willow. Then the werewolf pulled off his shirt, struggling slightly.
Willow had to refrain from screaming when she saw the state of his arm. Though most of the blood had been cleaned up, it was still disgusting and getting worse by the second. The black veins had crawled farther up his arm and biceps, closer to his heart.
"Okay. You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of," Stiles told him, wanting it to all be over with.
"When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me," Derek told them. Then he started searching through the supplies for something in particular.
"Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" he asked sarcastically.
"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time — last resort."
"What last resort?" Willow asked, feeling like she wouldn't like the answer.
And she didn't. Derek pulled out a saw meant for cutting through bone. "Stiles is gonna cut off my arm."
Derek slid the saw across the table to Stiles, who picked it up and inspected it, turning it on for a moment. Willow squealed in fear as she heard the sound, backing away.
"Oh, my God," Stiles said, putting the saw back down. "What if you bleed to death?"
"It'll heal if it works," Derek said, using his teeth to tie a blue band tourniquet around his bicep.
"Look, I don't know if I can do this," Stiles admitted.
"Why not?"
"Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!"
"You faint at the sight of blood?" Derek asked in disbelief.
"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!" Stiles shouted. The more they talked about cutting off an arm, the more Willow panicked. And what Derek said next certainly didn't help.
"Then she can cut it off," he said, pointing to Willow.
"Oh god. No, no, no," she said, shaking her head. Tears were already welling in her eyes as she backed against the counter.
"Shit. You're making her cry, dude," Stiles said, turning his attention to Willow, wanting her to calm down. Stiles held her waist and lifted her onto the counter. "Just calm down, okay. You're not cutting anything off anyone. Take some deep breaths. Think about cheerleading and Harry Styles and Scribbles."
Willow nodded and took a deep breath, clenching her eyes shut.
Derek waited another second for Willow to calm down before threatening the boy. "Stiles, either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head."
"Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any—" Derek reached across the table and grabbed the front of Stiles' shirt, yanking him forward harshly. "Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold. Totally. I'll do it. I'll do it. What? What are you doing?"
Derek had then let Stiles go and began to lean over. He suddenly vomited a black substance all over the floor. Willow screamed and slid further away on the counter, drawing her legs up to her chest as more tears fell.
"He's gonna die. He's gonna die," she said, beginning to freak out.
"Holy God, what the hell is that?" Stiles asked, looking down at the black blood.
"It's my body trying to heal itself," he said, taking deep breaths.
"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it," Stiles muttered.
"Now," Derek said. "You gotta do it now."
"Look, honestly, I don't think I can—"
"Just do it!" Derek shouted.
"Oh, my God. Okay, okay. Willow, shut your eyes!" Stiles ordered as he grabbed the saw. Willow listened and hid her face in her knees, also covering her ears. It did nothing to drown out the sound of the saw turning on though.
"Oh, my God. All right, here we go!" Stiles said, holding the blade to Derek's arm.
"Stiles!" Scott suddenly yelled, finally arriving.
"Scott?" Stiles asked, relief washing over him.
Scott entered the room to see Willow curled up on the counter, cowering away while Stiles held a bone saw to Derek's mutilated arm. "What the hell are you doing?"
Willow was on her feet in a second, hugging Scott tightly, glad that he made it on time. Stiles happily threw the saw on the table. "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."
"Did you get it?" Derek asked. Scott pulled the bullet out of his pocket and handed it to Derek, who held it up to the light.
"What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles asked.
"I'm gonna... I'm gonna—"
Derek suddenly passed out, the bullet falling from his hand and rolling under the table as he collapsed. Willow had been too close to him, and he brought her down with him. She groaned as her head hit the ground and then shoved his dense body off of her.
As Scott tried to find the bullet that had dropped through a grate in the floor, Stiles and Willow tried to wake the unconscious werewolf.
"Derek. Derek, come on, wake up," Stiles said, lightly slapping his face a few times. "Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?"
"I don't know! I can't reach it," Scott told them.
"He's not waking up! I think he's dying. I think he's dead!" Stiles declared.
"Just hold on," Scott yelled, trying to reach the bullet.
"P - punch him or something," Willow said, trying to stay calm — it obviously wasn't working.
"Please don't kill me for this," Stiles muttered. Then he reared back and punched Derek as hard as he could, which hurt him more than it hurt Derek. "Ow! God!"
But punching him did the trick. Derek's eyes snapped open, and Stiles pulled him to his feet as Scott retrieved the bullet finally. Willow stayed on the floor and watched with wide eyes as Derek used his teeth to pry open the shell casing. Inside was a substance that Willow could only assume was some kind of wolfsbane. Derek retrieved a lighter from his pocket and lit the pile on fire, it immediately sparking and igniting. He scooped the burning pile into his hand before slapping it on his wound, using his finger to dig it into the bullet hole directly.
Derek screamed in pain and fell over as blue smoke emitted from the wound. They all watched as he writhed on the ground helplessly. Before their very eyes, the black veins disappeared and the bullet hole closed up, like it was never there to begin with.
"That. Was. Awesome! Yes!" Stiles exclaimed excitedly. It was fun now that Derek wasn't threatening to cut his head off.
"A - are you okay?" Willow asked quietly. He simply looked over at her, both of them still on the ground.
"Are you?" Scott asked when Derek didn't reply.
"Well, except for the agonizing pain," Derek grumbled, getting to his feet.
"I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," Stiles muttered, earning a glare from Derek.
"Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone, you got that? That includes Willow now too," Scott told him. "And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything—"
"You're gonna trust them?" Derek interrupted. "You think they can help you?"
"Well, why not? They're a lot freaking nicer than you are," he said.
"I can show you exactly how nice they are."
Scott frowned, confused by the dark look on Derek's face. "What do you mean?"
Before Derek actually could show Scott what he meant, they had to clean up all the blood in the operating room. Willow had silently stayed put, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down now that no one was dying. And when it was time to go, Scott offered her his hand to get her off the floor.
"You're a werewolf," she said quietly as they all four walked to the parking lot. Stiles would have to drive them back to school where Derek's car was. Only he and Scott would be going to the home for assisted living connected to the hospital.
"I mean, it - it doesn't really change anything about who I am," Scott said. Then he sighed. "Are you scared of me?"
Willow bit her lip and kicked a rock. "I guess not. But the nickname Lungs is a little redundant now that your lungs actually work."
Scott managed a laugh before getting into the passenger seat. Given that Stiles was driving, that left Willow and a brooding Derek in the back seat.
"Um, I'm glad you're not dead," Willow said softly, glancing at Derek. "Or missing an arm."
Derek nodded to her. "Thanks for yelling at Scott and Stiles every time they suggested letting me die."
"No talking to Willow," Stiles said protectively from the front seat. Then he went back to whatever conversation he was having with Scott.
Derek simply rolled his eyes, not planning on listening to him. "I'm sorry you had to find out about this life because of me. It can be scary at times for humans."
"Like I said — definitely won't be staying in my house alone tonight," she said, biting her lip.
"Like I said — cause Stiles can totally protect you," Derek said, a smirk on his lips.
"Stiles is still better than being by myself," she told him. "We can't all have big strong werewolves in leather jackets at our beck and call."
From the front seat, Scott was wondering just how long it'd be before Willow actually did have Derek at her beck and call — pretty much every other boy in Beacon Hills was.
"I suppose I should also apologize for that too," Derek said after a moment.
Willow didn't understand what he was referring to at first, but then he nodded toward her outfit. She looked down to see black blood splattered across her otherwise pristine white skirt, the substance staining the fabric.
And just like that, all calm that Willow had managed to achieve was gone. Tears welled in her eyes once more at the thought of having someone's blood on her.
"This is my favorite skirt," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Stiles glanced back at her, his eyes wide. "No. Don't cry again. Don't cry. I've - I've got a pair of sweatpants back there. In my lacrosse bag. No blood to be found on them. Please don't cry, Wills."
Willow bit her lip and nodded, forcing the tears back as she grabbed Stiles' bag off the floor and dug through it until she found the sweatpants. Before she could even start to put them on, Scott reached back and smacked Derek.
"Shut your eyes!" he ordered, practically growling.
"I was obviously not going to watch," Derek said, scoffing. He turned his head toward the window, rolling his eyes at how protective Scott and Stiles were over Willow.
"Thanks," Willow whispered, really saying it to all three of them. She quickly shimmied out of her skirt and slipped on Stiles' sweatpants, pulling the drawstring in so that they wouldn't fall down. "So, if I don't make a one hundred on my French test tomorrow, do you think I can blame it on my new werewolf friend almost dying?"
"Do not call him your friend," Stiles insisted, a scowl on his face. "Friends don't vomit black blood all over you and ask you to cut their arm off."
"I'm sensing some unresolved anger between the three of you," Willow stated.
"He stalked Allison."
"You got me arrested."
"And yet here you sit, not in jail."
☽︎
It was three more days before Willow saw Derek Hale again. Those three days had given her more time to come to terms with everything, and Stiles and Scott had slowly fed her more and more information about their supernatural discoveries.
She was leaving an after-school cheerleading practice and heading to her car when he intercepted her. He looked considerably healthier this time around, and because Stiles wasn't there, he didn't have a glare on his face either.
"You're not dying again, are you?" she asked hesitantly. "I'd really prefer if you waited about a year before doing something like that again."
"No, not dying," he said, a hardly noticeable smile on his face. Then he cleared his throat a tad bit awkwardly. "I, um, I actually wanted to give you something. I would've just dropped it on your porch but then I realized I don't know where you live."
"Oh, well, what is it?" she asked, tilting her head.
He had been holding it under his leather jacket but pulled out a small, white, folded-up garment with the tags still on.
"My skirt!" Willow exclaimed, immediately recognizing it. Well, it wasn't hers, but it was the same brand and size as the one that had been ruined. She grinned as Derek passed it to her.
"I, uh, spotted the brand on the tag when you threw it away the other night," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "Figured it's the least I could do after ruining your favorite skirt."
"Thank you so much," Willow told him, folding it over her arm. "And here Stiles is making you sound like a heartless, thoughtless villain from a comic book."
Derek scoffed and rolled his eyes. "If I was the villain, I already would've killed all three of you."
The easy smile slipped off her lips. "Have you ever, I don't know, had a regular conversation with a person without purposefully or inadvertently threatening them?"
The corner of his lip quirked up like he wanted to smile, amused by her question. "I suppose it's something I could work on."
"Just a little bit," she agreed, smiling once more. "I can always give you tips on how to be more charming and less creepy."
"I'm not creepy."
"You're a little creepy," she stated. "And heavy."
Derek let out a playfully hurt scoff. "I think I'll be taking that skirt back."
"Wait, no, I'm sorry," she said, giggling as she clutched the garment to her chest. Derek smiled a real smile at her laugh. He had a nice smile, Willow thought. "That was mean. I shouldn't have said it."
Despite not really knowing her for long at all, Derek was quite sure that Willow didn't have a mean bone in her body. "Well, I just wanted to drop that off. I'm sure you want to get home."
"Seriously, thank you," Willow said once again. "This is like the nicest thing ever. I'll think of you, like, every time I wear it."
Funny how Derek didn't hate the idea of her thinking about him. He couldn't quite yet put his finger on why though.
☽︎
do i care if you think derek is written a little out of character when he's alone with willow? no. that is all