-DISCLAIMER-
I do NOT own Teen Wolf
Double update for the double episode
To be completely honest, Magic Bullet is one of my least favorite episodes, but I'm still enjoying writing it hahaha.
Question of the Chapter - Which do you prefer, Scallison or Skira?
Please comment, share and vote!
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When he continued to glare, I threw my hands up in surrender, muttering, "Geez, I'm sorry I asked."
Derek rolled his eyes, before zoning back in on his conversation with the teen wolf.
"If you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right?"
"Why do I get the feeling we would all probably be better off?" I said under my breath, knowing full well that Derek would have heard me anyway, considering he has enhanced hearing.
But, Derek either wasn't concentrating on listening to me, or decided to ignore my snide comment. Either way, he didn't respond.
"Then think about this. 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."
"Okay, I take back what I said. Please don't let this Alpha guy kill Scott," I said quickly.
He ignored me again. "So if you want to stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet."
Derek hung up, most likely not giving Scott the chance to reply to his order. Not that they don't all know what Scott would have said. Like he would have had the guts to disagree with a guy that would probably kill him.
I thought about what would happen if Scott were to die. Melissa would most likely never recover. Hell, neither would Stiles or I. After I found out my dad had cheated on my mom, and then left us, I felt destroyed. Losing one of my best friends? I didn't even want to imagine.
"Alright, you're gonna help Scott if we save you? Then where are we taking you?"
When the three of us showed up at the Animal Clinic, Stiles unlocked a roller door out the back. As soon as we entered the room, the dogs started barking like mad.
They must have smelt Derek, or something like that. Dogs can smell each other, can't they? I'm pretty sure that's right.
Derek collapsed down onto a pile of dog food bags as Stiles' phone beeped.
"Does Nordic blue monkshood mean anything to you?"
"Sounds like something from 'Merlin' to me," I grinned, thinking back to the show.
It's a real shame they only did five seasons.
"Not the time, Riley."
I just shrugged him off, as we both turned to look at an exhausted Derek Hale.
It's not like all the plants and other things they mentioned in 'Merlin' were all made up. They could've mentioned Nordic blue monkshood at some point.
"It's a rare form of wolfsbane," he answered between heavy breaths. "He has to bring me the bullet."
"Are you kidding?" I laughed with little to no humour. "How the hell is he supposed to steal a bullet from hunters? They're experienced, and my guess is, they'll notice if even one bullet is missing."
"Why?" Stiles said over the top of me , talking to Derek.
Derek looked up at him with that whole serious-yet-brooding face he always did. "Because I'm going to die without it."
I chimed in, unwisely, again. "Are you sure you're not dead already? 'Cause you look pretty dead to me. Just saying."
"Damn it," my best friend muttered as he pulled his phone back out of his pocket. I leaned over, to see him text Scott.
To Scott:
You need to get here NOW
"Let's take him into the other room. Away from the dogs, they're giving me a headache," I muttered, massaging my temples.
Stiles agreed, before walking over and helping to lift the, may I mention heavy, man into the room where the doc worked on his patients.
As Stiles flicked the lights on, Derek pulled off his shirt. And I am not ashamed to admit, that I did not mind this change in clothing choice, as my eyes widened a little.
Stiles waved a hand in front of my face, and I swatted him away, mouthing 'What?' with a shrug.
I noticed a tattoo on his back. The black ink displayed three spirals, connected in the middle.
Now, that symbol I know I saw on 'Merlin'. It's pretty, but I couldn't remember what it was. I think it was in an episode with dragons, but I doubted that dragons were real. Who knew though; considering werewolves were real and all.
Probably a better question to ask Derek when he wasn't dying.
We joined Derek around the cold, metal table as he laid his arm on it. The blackened veins creeped up his arm, making their way towards his heart as the blood trailed everywhere else.
Stiles cleared his throat, "You know, that really doesn't look like anything some Echinacea and a good night's sleep couldn't take care of."
I raised my eyebrows, looking at him with my signature, 'Are-you-freaking-kidding-me?' look.
Safe to say, he recognised it immediately.
Derek, for once, didn't threaten to kill Stiles after his sarcastic comment. "When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me." His breathing became laboured as he began to search the cupboards for something.
"Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?"
I couldn't help but agree with Stiles. Derek was a real downer.
Maybe he should stop wearing so much black; put on some colours to try and brighten his mood a little.
"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time, last resort . . ."
"Which is?"
I didn't like where this was headed.
Derek finally found what he had been searching for, and held up his prize for the two of us to see. Afterwards, however, I wished I had not seen. Because in Derek's hand, was a very real, very sharp, electric hand saw.
"You're going to cut off my arm."
"I think I'm going to be sick," I whispered as I avoided eye contact with the shirtless man. Stiles didn't appear too impressed with Derek's 'last resort' either.
♡♢♤♧
We gave Scott another hour, before Derek had had enough. He slid the object across the table, and Stiles picked it up, revving it slightly, before dropping it. I looked over to see Derek tightening a strap around his arm to slow the blood flow.
"This is nuts. This is not actually happening," I ran a hand through my hair.
"What if you bleed to death?" Stiles asked as he leaned his elbows on the table so that he was level with the dying werewolf.
"It'll heal if it works," he muttered, his mouth biting down on the band to help himself tighten it.
Stiles' face scrunched in disgust. "Ugh. Look, I don't know if I can do this."
"Why not?"
"Well, because the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!"
Derek smacked a hand down on the table in frustration, "You faint at the sight of blood?"
"No. But I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!" Stiles pointed out. Fair argument.
He shook his head with a sigh, "All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head."
I stepped forward, having heard enough of Derek's comments against my best friend. "You know what? How about you stop threatening to kill him for just five minutes? We are trying to help you, and to be completely honest, we're not really buying your threats anymore."
In response, Derek grabbed a fist full of Stiles' shirt and pulled him towards him, a menacing look on his face.
"Okay! I retract everything I just said! Stiles, cut off the nice man's arm, please," I begged slightly, not wanting to have to see Stiles's head rolling across the clinic floor.
Stiles nodded, "Alright, bought, sold, totally, I'll do it. I'll do it."
All of a sudden, his grip had grown weak, and he wavered. "What are you doing?" The younger boy asked, seemingly not bothered by the man gripping his shirt anymore.
I walked around to Derek, right before he retched all over the floor. A black liquid sprayed the granite grey floors, just missing my shoes; thankfully. Stiles' face contorted into a look of both confusion and disgust as he stared at the floor.
"Holy God. What the hell is that?"
"It's my body," he heaved. "It is trying to heal itself.
I had taken a step back, not wanting to risk getting my shoes wrecked. "Well, you should get that checked, because it doesn't seem to be doing a very good job, does it now?"
"Now, you gotta do it now," Derek ordered.
"That better be directed at Stiles, because there is no way I am even touching that hand saw!" I squeaked, unable to even look at this point.
Stiles shot me a glare, before he attempted to protest against Derek, but was quickly shutdown by the man. He grabbed the handsaw, and took a step towards Derek, positioning the blade on his arm.
"Oh, my God. Okay. Oh, my God. All right, here we go!"
Just as Stiles was about to turn the saw on, praise the heavens, we all heard Scott call our names as he walked into the clinic.
"Oh, thank God," I breathed as I rested my head in my hands.
"What the hell are you doing?"
From the way Scott had reacted, I was quick to realize that Stiles hadn't exactly pulled the saw away from Derek's arm yet.
The boy dropped the saw, chuckling to himself. "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."
I nodded my head rapidly in agreement.
"Did you get it?" Soon-to-be-maybe-not-dead man asked the Latino boy.
Said boy rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a slender gold bullet, and resting it on Derek's hand.
"What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles questioned still looking relieved that he no longer had to saw someone's arm off.
Derek wobbled slightly, before passing out, not finishing what he had been attempting to say to them.
The bullet dropped from his hand as he fell to the floor, rolling underneath a bench and down a grate. Scott had attempted to grab it before it did, but he had been too late.
Scott went to the bullet, and Stiles and I rushed over to Derek.
"Derek? Derek, come on. Wake up!" Stiles lightly slapped the man's face. "Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?"
"I don't know! I can't reach it."
God, these two boys were going to get me killed one day. I swear it.
"He's not waking up, Scott!"
The boy with the buzz cut began to panic. "I think he's dying. I think he's dead."
"Just hold on!" Scott yelled at us both.
It took a few moments, but not long after his outburst, Scott was standing up, yelling again.
"I got it! I got it!"
I nodded, looking back at Stiles who was reeling a balled up fist back.
"Please don't kill me for this!" He seemed to pray, just before he slammed his knuckles into Derek's face, yelping in pain.
Derek was woken immediately, telling Scott to give him the bullet. Once he was standing and leaning against the table once more, he broke open the bullet with his teeth, pouring its contents out onto the table.
He pulled out a lighter, ignited the wolfsbane in flames, and allowed it to go out by itself in a matter of seconds. He then quickly swept it into his hand with no hesitation, before slamming it down onto the wound, pushing the wolfsbane into the bullet hole.
The wound glowed a bright blue as he screamed in pain, and fell to the ground, his body convulsing. His screams turned to growls as he looked at his wound.
The screaming died down eventually, and we all looked at his arm, to see the wound finally beginning to heal itself. Within a few seconds, it was as if it was never even there to begin with.
"That was awesome!" Stiles cheered, clenching a fist. "Yes!"
I gave him a slightly disappointed look, before turning to Derek. "Are you okay?"
"Except for the agonizing pain?" Derek groaned.
"There's no need to be a smartarse," I muttered.
I swear, if the whole broody-werewolf thing was universal, and Scott started acting like Derek, I was sending him to the pound.
Stiles' tone lowered in comparison to his last remark, "I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health."
And Derek was back to glaring at Stiles. The norm lately.
"Well, you'd know," I shrugged.
"Touché."
"Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone," Scott claimed. "You got that? And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything"
What a little snitch. I chuckled subconsciously, knowing that if I had done so out loud, Derek definitely wouldn't have been happy. Well, he would have been grumpier than he already was.
"You're gonna trust them?" he interrupted, his broody expression present once more. "You think they can help you?"
"Why not? They're a lot freaking nicer than you are!"
"Yeah, I can show you exactly how nice they are."
"What do you mean?"
Derek grabbed his shirt, "We're going for a drive."
I began to walk towards the door, "Can we come?"
"No."
Stopping in my tracks, I rolled my eyes, "Of course not."
Scott mouthed a sorry, before he followed Mr Broody out the door.
Once we were alone, I looked back to Stiles, "So, you still offering that 'Star Wars' marathon?"
He smiled warmly, before reaching out his hand. I took it in my own, grateful for his warmth, and he lead me out the door to his Jeep.
♡♢♤♧
We sat on my couch together, halfway through the first movie, when Stiles decided to pipe up.
"So . . . You wanna talk yet?"
"We're watching your favourite movie, why would you want to talk?" I laughed as I grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl that had sat between us.
"Because you ended your relationship, you were crying, and you look like you could use someone to talk to," he replied, picking up the remote and pausing the movie.
I cocked my head to the side. "You'd rather sit here and hear about my sad excuse for a relationship, than watch your favourite movie?"
I couldn't believe it. I mean, I knew that Scott and Stiles were my best friends, but I never really wanted them to go out of their way for me. Plus, relationship talk didn't really seem like something they would want to talk about.
Apparently, I was wrong.
"Well . . . " he began. "To be honest, no, because it just reminds me of how I'm not in one. However, you are my friend, and I am always going to be here for you. No matter what. You hear me?"
"I hear you, Stilinski," I smiled. "Maybe not today though. I promise, we will, but right now I'd rather just watch this movie with you."
Stiles nodded, respecting my wishes, and clicking play with a small grin, and we both focused back on the movie.
I wasn't sure how this would all play out yet, this supernatural situation we had gotten ourselves into; but, I knew that Scott, Stiles and I would always be there to help each other fight the monsters who lurk in the dark, because we knew we couldn't do it alone.
♡♢♤♧
The next night, I sat in Sheriff Stilinski's patrol car with said man, waiting for Stiles to return with our dinner from one of the local burger restaurants.
I decided that while Stiles was gone, I would claim the passenger seat beside the Sheriff. Partially because the backseat made me feel like a criminal, but mainly, I just wanted to see how Stiles would react.
"Not that I don't enjoy your company, Riley, but why are you spending your night in a cop car?" He asked, turning to me.
I shrugged with a small smile, "Scott's out for the night, mum's working late, and I have nothing better to do."
He pursed his lips, nodding his head, before we both heard a tapping on my window. I had locked the door so that Stiles would not be able to reclaim the seat. Yes, I was that childish.
I slowly rolled down the window, looking out at the boy.
"Can I help you?" I asked with a smirk.
His mouth opened and closed a few times, kinda like a fish, before he narrowed his eyes. "You're in my seat."
"Is your name on it, Mr Stilinski?"
Stiles's face hardened, "No."
"Tsk, shame. I guess I'm not in the back this time."
The boy shook his head, handing the food bags through the window, before climbing into the backseat and taking the metal grate away so that he didn't feel left out.
Sheriff Stilinski searched his food bag as he bit into his burger, "Mmm. Did they forget my curly fries?"
"You're not supposed to eat fries," Stiles pointed out. "Especially the curly ones."
I popped one of my curly fries into my mouth, nodding my head, "Very unhealthy."
The sheriff scoffed, "Well, I'm carrying a lethal weapon. If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries."
The man's son pulled his lemonade away from his mouth, "If you think getting rid of contractions in all your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you are wrong." He made sure to enunciate the you and are heavily.
Stiles laughed in triumph, his father looking at him in disbelief, as he got back to his drink.
Not even five seconds later, the sheriff's radio buzzed to life, the dispatcher talking on the other end.
'Unit One, do you copy?'
Stiles leaned forward, reaching for the radio, only to be slapped away by his father. He retracted his hand carefully, trying to appear innocent.
"Sorry."
His father shook his head, picking up the receiver. "Unit One, copy."
I took a bite of my burger. Chicken, my favourite. I smiled, knowing that I hadn't actually asked for it, but Stiles must have chosen it for me. I turned in my chair to look at him, to see him stuffing his face with curly fries. I chuckled to myself, shaking my head.
'Got a report of a possible 187.'
The two of us looked up from our food, saying in unison, "A murder?"
Stiles was a little muffled, due to his mouth still being chock full of curled and fried potato.
Damn, curly fries were so good. I wondered why they seem to taste better shaped like that. Although the waffle fries were pretty good.
Probably not the time to be thinking about that, with the whole murder thing that was just announced.
The sheriff put down the receiver and drove straight to the scene of the report.
We arrived at the local movie store, and I took a look around. The window to the left of the door had been smashed, glass blanketing the gravel. Ambulances and other police cars were already on the scene, crime tape closing it off from the civilians.
We pulled up beside an ambulance, which had Lydia Martin sitting in the rear, and her arse of a boyfriend was by her side.
Mr Stilinski opened his door, before turning back to Stiles and I, telling us to stay put. Stiles went to argue, but his dad was already out of the car and walking over to the ambulance.
The radio buzzed again, and Stiles and I glanced at each other, a worried demeanour on both of our faces.
Was this another werewolf related event? It felt like everything had something to do with werewolves these days.
I looked out the window, to see that Jackson was yelling at a paramedic, whilst his girlfriend looked like a wreck. Did he even notice?
She'd be better off with Stiles; he cared unconditionally. Maybe he'd even make her a better person.
Sheriff Stilinski made his way over to the one-sided argument, trying to help cool Jackson off. He attempted to talk to the teen, informing him that the medics wanted to check his condition to be sure he didn't have a concussion.
If the accident didn't give him one, I'd be glad to offer my services.
Jackson shook his head, glaring at the Sheriff, "What part of 'I'm fine' are you having a problem grasping? Okay, I wanna go home."
"And I understand that-"
"No, you don't understand," he stepped closer, getting in the Sheriff's face. "Which kind of blows my mind, since it should be a pretty basic concept to grasp for a minimum-wage rent-a-cop like you!"
By that point, Stiles was standing outside of the car, leaning against the door, glaring at Jackson. I followed suit, climbing out to stand beside him.
"Okay, now, I wanna go home!" Jackson nearly screamed, pointing to what I assumed was the direction of his home.
All of a sudden, Stiles shouted, "Oh, whoa, is that a dead body?"
I gasped, slapping his arm, before pulling him back so that he couldn't get closer to the crime scene. As the men wheeled out the gurney holding the body, the Sheriff looked between it and the two of us, tiredness coating his face.
"Get in the car!" I hissed. We both sat back in the car, quietly eating our food as we waited for the Sheriff to finish with his job at the crime scene.
♡♢♤♧
I had gone home and read my book, before deciding that I would probably need to be functioning at school the next day, and got into bed. The idea that we had to go to school while there was something so much bigger happening just outside our doors sent a shiver down my spine.
What if we're not strong enough to handle both our normal lives and these new ones that have been forced on us?
When I woke up the next morning, I pulled on a pair of light washed denim jeans, a floral top, black leather jacket, and some ankle boots. After doing my usual morning hair and make-up, I decided to text Stiles to see if he wanted to hang out before school. I had text Scott also, but he had already left.
I may or may not have also asked him to bring me some waffles for breakfast. Maybe.
Stiles did not deny my request, showing up at my door within ten minutes with waffles in a take-out container.
We decided that it would probably be easier to eat at a table, rather than on the drive to school, so I pulled out some plates and we sat in the kitchen.
Stiles kept giving me side-ways glances, a worried look in his eyes.
I had a feeling I wouldn't enjoy that conversation.