@Sᴛɪʟᴇs-Is-Tʜᴇ-Nɪɢʜᴛ
1:05 ───⊙─────── 3:34
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playιng: [Pʀᴇsᴜᴍᴀʙʟʏ Dᴇᴀᴅ Aʀᴍ (617 Sᴇssɪᴏɴs)] - [Sɪᴅɴᴇʏ Gɪsʜ]
Any pretense of relaxation that the three animal clinic invaders had managed to form disappeared as soon as they managed to carry Derek into the examination room. He tore his shirt off, revealing a tribal-ish tattoo. Devereaux couldn't help but wonder what frat house he had gotten it in. Groaning, Derek rested his upper body against one of the exam tables, slumping down to look at his forearm.
It looked even worse than before. The black veins that'd previously been hidden underneath the blood smeared on his skin now stretched down to his hand, and climbed upwards to his shoulders. Dev had to look away every few seconds to keep his stomach from turning. Derek was having some serious vascular issues, and what seemed to be a major case of blood poisoning.
"Okay," Stiles said, bobbing around nervously on the other side of the table, "You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of,"
"Is that how you pronounce that?" Dev asked, frowning. He took another quick peek at Derek's arm, quickly turning to read a poster about vaccine schedules. Now that Scott was a werewolf, would they have to get him a new round of shots just for animal diseases? They should look into getting his parvo vaccine before fall, better safe than sorry.
Of course, getting Scott vaccinated would be easy, with all the goddamn unsafe medical supplies lying about, they could just help themselves. Dev was disappointed in Dr. Deaton, he had thought that he was a responsible adult.
"When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me," Derek panted out, swaying on his feet with the force of his breathing. And probably from just a bit of blood loss. He started to half-heartedly look through the cabinets.
"'Positivity' just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?"
"Just because he doesn't use the word doesn't mean it's not in his vocabulary, I'm sure he knows what it means," Dev said, turning back toward the two, "Now, whether he's ever felt positive is a whole nother ball game,"
"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time- Last resort," Derek said, pulling open a drawer of medication. He pawed through it before slamming it closed again.
"Which is?" Stiles asked, wanting to know exactly what he could do to end this nightmare situation. Derek finally found what he was looking for and held it up as he spoke.
"You're gonna cut off my arm,"
A fucking bonesaw. Dev couldn't believe it, this was their alternative? They turned down a demigod with legit magical healing spells— a real-life Rapunzel, for this?
"I think that now is a good time to remind you all that I proposed a different solution, but only one of us voted against it,"
"It's too late for that now, it's either the bullet or..."
"Amputation," Dev said in a strangled voice, before looking around at the other two, "This is my first, what about you guys? Firsts all around? What a fun new experience for all of us,"
Dev and Stiles managed to convince Derek to wait another half an hour before resorting to amputation, but when the blackened veins started to crawl over his collarbone they knew time was up. The teenage boys each began to pace while Derek prepped his own arm for amputation. Devereaux busied himself by disinfecting the blade and the steel examination table, taking deep breaths. Was it normal to be more nervous than the soon-to-be amputee?
"Oh, my God. What if you bleed to death?" Stiles said, gaping at the bonesaw in his hand. He pressed the power and had to stop himself from gagging when it roared to life, already envisioning the gore.
"Just stay calm and be positive," Devereaux said, strangling his voice into a soothing tone. The fake cheeriness and calm was undercut by the way his deep breathing had picked up, on the verge of hyperventilation. He started to lay trash bags down flat on the floor, like the plastic sheets in mafia movies. If there was a Martha Stewart book about D.I.Y. medical procedures, Dev was sure that'd be one of the 'quick hacks' in a sidebar somewhere. Make cleaning up half of a literal human arm a breeze with Glad garbage bags. He grimaced, no amount of joking would make this feel less morbid.
"It'll heal if it works,"
"If, being the key word here," Dev said shakily, dragging over an empty trash can. He didn't really know if what he was doing was useful anymore, but if he stopped moving he might throw up. Maybe this was the right time to play some background music? Doctors did that all the time right?
"Are you trying to help? Because if you want me to stay calm and positive you should shut the hell up," Stiles shot, scrubbing at his lips again. He vibrated in place, hoping that a miracle would happen to save him from what Derek wanted him to do.
"You could try being less of a meanie head while you're at it," Dev replied, though it was muffled by the cabinet he had stuck his head into.
"Ugh," Stiles gagged, "Look- I don't know if I can do this,"
"Why not?" Derek asked, a piece of latex in his mouth as he tied off his arm.
Stiles rocked back and forth on his feet, "Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!"
"Okay Bella Swan," Dev teased, ignoring the fact that he felt the exact same way. The only reason Stiles got stuck with the horrible job was because Dev had threatened to call Pip and tell her everything if they tried to make him do it. He wondered if Pip had ever had to amputate someone's arm.
Derek scoffed, "You faint at the sight of blood?"
It was a little ridiculous the way he said it, as if he expected two average teenage boys to be jumping up and down at the thought of dismembering someone.
"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!"
Dev finally came to a stop at Stiles' side, clamping a hand down on his shoulder, "Let's put this in a good light: this is an opportunity to find out something new about yourself, do you faint at the sight of a chopped off arm? This is an avenue you should be exploring within yourself,"
He forced the bonesaw into Stiles' hand, but the boy dropped it back onto the table like it was on fire.
"All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head," Derek panted, glaring up at Stiles.
"That's overkill,"
"Okay, Dev shut up. Derek, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any-" Stiles said firmly, waving his hand dismissively in Derek's face. The werewolf's good arm shot across the table and grabbed Stiles by the shirt collar, "Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold. Totally. I'll do it. I'll do it,"
Derek leaned to the side with a hoarse cough, still holding Stiles hostage.
"What? What are you doing?" Stiles asked, until Derek began to hack, and threw up black bile onto the ground, "Holy God, what the hell is that?!"
Frustration overshadowed the disgust that Devereaux felt. Of course Derek had thrown up on the part of the floor that wasn't covered in trash bags. Now they were going to have to clean up after him before they left.
"It's my body— Trying to heal itself," Derek said hoarsely, still hunched over the ground.
"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it," Stiles whined, face scrunched up in disgust.
Turning away from the mop bucket he had been filling, Dev chided his friend. "Criticizing him isn't going to help. Not that it'll stop you,"
His comment went ignored as Derek pushed himself back up onto the table, "Now. You gotta do it now,"
"Look, honestly, I don't think I can," Stiles said, his heart pounding in his ears. He didn't want to have to do this, and he especially didn't want to be so scared that he messed up and killed someone. It was a lose-lose situation where each outcome left him a different brand of scarred for life.
"Just do it!" Derek roared, making the two boys jump. Dev hurried over to Derek's side, lifting him into a better position for arm removal. His eyes squeezed closed as tight as they could as soon as he saw Stiles pick up the bonesaw.
"Oh, my God. Okay, okay," Stiles rambled, positioning the saw a few centimeters below the latex band. He lifted it up and down a few times, trying to work up the nerve to turn the saw on, "Oh, my God. All right, here we go!"
"Stiles!" someone shouted from the back entrance, Stiles' finger freezing on the power switch.
"Scott?" he called out, the relief clear in his voice. The tension in Stiles' shoulders melted away, and Devereaux opened his eyes to see Scott skid to a stop in the doorway.
"What the hell are you doing?" Scott asked once he was able to take in the scene, Devereaux had Derek pinned to the table and Stiles was holding a saw. Were they stupid, what were they thinking? The increasing urgency in their texts made more sense to him as he saw Stiles drop the saw onto the table with a clatter.
"Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares," Stiles said through breathy laughter. He tried to settle down his heartbeat. Dev didn't break out of his shock until Derek pushed him off, almost knocking the boy to the ground.
"Did you get it?" Derek asked, half-collapsed against the tabletop. Scott didn't seem to have grasped the urgency of the situation, but at least he'd shown up when he did. One second later and who knows what might've happened. Scott passed him the bullet, and Derek found the strength to stand up straight, holding the bullet up to his eyes.
"What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles asked, still breathing heavily from the close call.
"I'm gonna—" Derek started, it had suddenly become difficult to keep his eyes open, "I'm gonna—,"
"You're gonna..." Dev said, his hand gesturing to urge Derek to finish his thought, "You're gonna..."
There was just enough time for Derek to turn and glare at Devereaux before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed. Dev was barely able to grab onto his shoulders before his head hit the ground, placing him gently onto the cold cement. The bullet was knocked out of his hand and rolled under a metal shelf.
"No. No, no, no, no," Scott cried out as he lunged after it. He lay flat on the floor, trying to fit his hand into the grate it had fallen into. His fingers just couldn't quite stretch far enough. Stiles and Dev crouched down over the unconscious werewolf, needing him to tell them what to do.
"Derek. Derek, come on, wake up," Stiles said, leaning over Derek's face, slapping it as hard as he dared. Nothing helped, he remained pale and unresponsive.
"Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?" Dev called out nervously, seeing them caught in two different dilemmas at once. They had no use for the bullet if they couldn't wake Derek up, and there was no point in waking Derek if they didn't have the bullet.
"I don't know! I can't reach it," Scott groaned, trying to shove his shoulder further underneath the shelf. He was so close, but his fingers were just too far away.
Stiles rocked Derek's head from side to side, hoping to get any kind of reaction, "He's not waking up!"
"Stiles kiss him!" Dev ordered, too panicked to think any more. All of these bullshit, fairytale problems had to have a bullshit, fairytale solution; right?
"Come on," Scott grunted, just barely being able to touch the top of the bullet.
"I think he's dying," Stiles shouted, "I think he's dead!"
Dev backed away from the action, frantically trying to find an AED. Figuring out how to use one would be his next problem.
"Oh god, don't kiss him! Don't kiss him!" he said, as if Stiles had ever bothered to take his advice in the first place. There wasn't a defibrillator anywhere, at least not one that was clearly marked. He doubted a veterinary defibrillator would even be strong enough for a human, let alone a werewolf.
"Just hold on!" Scott shouted, trying to focus on shifting just enough to use his claws, "Come on. Oh! I got it! I got it!"
Seeing that he'd run out of time and options, Stiles made the best fist he could and drew it back, regretting what was about to do, "Please don't kill me for this. Ugh! Ow! God!"
The punch hurt him as much as it hurt Derek– he'd never learned the proper form. Stiles jumped away from the werewolf, Dev grabbing the back of his shirt to help guide him out of the way. It worked though, Derek was awake, waving Scott over to him.
"Give me-" he said, while the three boys helped pull him back up to the table.
"Ugh," Scott groaned in disgust as Derek bit into the bullet casing. He tapped the powder out onto the table, gathering it into a pile as best he could.
"Ow! God-" Stiles continued to complain, nursing his hand against his chest. He and Dev leaned against the table end, wanting to see just why they needed the bullet.
Then Derek set the powder on fire, the pile sparking and popping into a column of flame. The three boys all jumped back from the heat of the fire, leaning back in when it died down and was replaced with glowing blue smoke. Scraping it off the edge of the table and into his hand, Derek pressed the ashes into his gunshot wound.
Everyone made sympathetic sounds of pain as they watched him push the ashes deeper into the wound with his finger. More smoke floated up from under his hand as Derek screamed in pain, slamming into Stiles and Dev as he stumbled away from the table. He fell back onto the ground, writhing and contorting. Dev wondered if that was supposed to happen, or if they were watching his horrible and agonizing death. The next scream came out more like a roar, and he was finally still. The black veins receded towards the bullet hole, before that too disappeared, only a few wisps of blue smoke left to show where it had been.
"That. Was. Awesome! Yes!" Stiles cheered, pumping his fist in triumph. Sure, his whole evening plans had been derailed by Scott and Derek, but he didn't have to cut anyone's arm off or watch someone die. Derek began to stand, already looking much better than he had since running out in front of the Jeep. The color had returned to his skin, and while he was covered in sweat and hunched over slightly, he didn't sway on his feet.
"Are you okay?" Scott asked, taking a step closer.
"Well, except for the agonizing pain,"
"I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," Stiles said, Derek throwing him a glare. He tried to make his flinch subtle and casual, but the werewolf was back to peak scariness now that he wasn't fighting for his life.
"That's how it works for my sister," Dev said with a shrug, grabbing the mop so they could clean up and leave faster, "Now that you're not dying, can I make a call back to earlier?"
"We'd all prefer it if you didn't," Stiles said, Derek and Scott too busy staring each other down to respond.
"Okay great," Dev said, slapping the wet mop down onto the floor, "I was just wondering if you've ever taken someone hostage, since we were talking about it earlier,"
Mid eyeroll, Stiles froze, beginning to nod fervently in agreement, "You know what? I changed my mind, I wanna know,"
Derek gave the two boys nothing but a silent glare, snapping the latex band off of his arm and tossing it right in front of Dev's mop.
"That wasn't a no," he said, acting unbothered by the rude littering. First he pukes off of the trash bags, now he throws his garbage on the wet floor like Dev is his personal maid or something. Maybe being entitled was a core part of being a werewolf.
"Yeah if anything it seemed more like an admission of guilt," Stiles said, tapping his finger against his uneasy frown. Derek looked murderous, and took a step toward Stiles, only to be stopped by Scott sliding in front of him.
"Okay, we saved your life," Scott said in a firm but stuttering voice, "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—"
"You're gonna trust them?" Derek asked, stepping toe to toe with the younger boy, "You think they can help you?"
"Well, why not?" Scott said, Stiles nodding his head from over Scott's shoulder, "They're a lot freaking nicer than you are,"
"I can show you exactly how nice they are," Derek scoffed.
"What do you mean?" Scott asked, brow crumpling up.
It apparently meant that with absolutely no sign of gratitude to the two humans that had dedicated their night to keeping Derek alive on Scott's behalf, Devereaux and Stiles would be left to remove all trace of their presence alone. Dev was once again left disappointed but not surprised, as he cleaned late into the night.
He had been lying when he said that the Argent's were nicer than Derek, but Scott was at least sure they were less confusing. They wanted him dead, plain and simple. Derek maybe wanted him dead, or maybe he wanted to... take him to a long-term care home?
"What are we doing here?" he asked, unable to see the possible connection between this place and the Argents. Derek didn't answer, just leading them inside and past the front desk. Confidently, he entered a patient's room, Scott checking up and down the hall nervously. They hadn't signed any kind of guest log, and it didn't take his mom being a nurse for him to know that this kind of thing was usually not allowed.
The room was dark, only the lights of the parking lot outside the window cutting through the shadows. Derek walked to the center of the room, where a man was sat in a chair. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, but he didn't shiver, didn't blink. His shallow breaths were quiet even to Scott's ears.
"Who is he?" he asked, when it became clear Derek wasn't going to say anything. He just looked at the man, a rare expression of mourning and regret. Scott wondered if Derek thought that the man was better off dead, due to the way a shadow of guilt crept across his face.
"My uncle," Derek finally answered, "Peter Hale,"
"Is he- like you, a werewolf?" Scott didn't know why, but his mouth tripped over the words he had planned to say. Is he like us? He couldn't tell if his denial was justified or not. Derek had mentioned a cure, but Scott wasn't sure how realistic it was to cling to the hope that this condition of his was only temporary. He would keep clinging anyway.
"He was," Derek scoffed, his lips twisted into a bitter sneer, "Now he's barely even human. Six years ago, my sister and I were at school, and our house caught fire. 11 people were trapped inside. He was the only survivor,"
"Why can't he heal?" Scott asked. Derek knew enough to save himself from the brink of death, surely he knew some way to help his uncle.
"The damage and trauma was just too much. When the healing process is stopped like that, you need something big to jumpstart it. Bigger than some burnt up wolfsbane," Derek said, cutting off Scott's follow up question, "You've heard about the Greek?"
He was reluctant to ask, and reluctant to tell, but he knew that he had to. Derek wanted to keep the truth about the demigod as vague as possible, before Scott went running around town calling out for a demigod. Just the word could attract monsters and he didn't want the girl to hate him more than she probably already did.
Scott seemed hot and cold on whether he should trust Derek or not, and the last thing either of them needed was for Scott to turn her against him, straight into the arms of the Argents. He had to wait until Scott trusted him more anyways, since he and his friends all seemed to think they needed to protect her. The only one who knew the truth was the motormouth adoptive brother, who reeked of petty anger whenever Scott was around, so that route was a bust as well.
"Yeah, kind of," Scott said lamely, he had only heard about it the once.
"The Greek is the only person who could save him,"
"Well how do you find him?" Scott asked, wondering if the Greek could cure his werewolf-ism as well.
"Her," Derek corrected, "I already know who she is. She has a particular scent, it's half normal, and half the best thing you've ever smelled, like pure happiness,"
"Who is it?"
"You already know her, but I'm not going to tell you more," Derek said, before defending himself against the accusatory glare Scott sent him, "It's a delicate situation as it is, and unfortunately I'm not the only one with a vested interest,"
"The Argents?" Scott realized, the pieces clicking together. His mind went to Allison, did she know who the Greek was? Was it her? She wasn't the only girl that Scott knew, but she was definitely the one he thought most likely to have magic powers. Allison was amazing in every way, it just made sense.
"Yep, Greeks are amazing fighters, and this one is even better than average it seems. If they convinced her to help them, we wouldn't stand a chance,"
"So- What makes you so sure that they set the fire?"
"Cause they're the only ones that knew about us," Derek said, wasn't that obvious?
"Well, then-" Scott paused, trying to defend his girlfriend's family, "They had a reason,"
"Like what? You tell me what justifies this," Derek snapped, turning the chair so that the other half of Peter's face swung into view. It was covered in a dense web of scarring that led down under the collar of his shirt. Scott flinched a little in shock, he didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't that.
"They say they'll only kill an adult, and only with absolute proof, but there were people in my family that were perfectly ordinary in that fire," Derek insisted, there was nothing right about what the Argents had done to his family, "This is what they do. And it's what Allison will do. And if you're really unlucky, the Greek will join them too,"
Scott still didn't seem convinced, and Derek wondered if he was the real unlucky one. Clearly Scott had been sent into his life to punish him, ruin it even more than it already had been. He heard the nurse walking down the hall, but there wasn't any time to hide before she angrily burst into the room. It was easy to tell his uncle's nurse apart from the others because she wore the most obnoxious rose perfume.
"What are you doing? How did you get in here?" she demanded, glaring at them from the doorway.
"We were just leaving," Derek said, grabbing Scott's arm and taking him out of the room. There was only so much he could say to try and convince the kid to not make stupid decisions that would get them all killed. This little field trip of theirs would hopefully at least be enough to keep him quiet for a week.