"We have to find Melissa," Stiles says once he sees the drops of blood on the floor, dripping from the wounds on my arm. I nod in agreement and keep my arm a little closer to my body.
Once we find her, just walking out of a patient's room, he speedwalks to stop her.
"Wait. Can you- can you listen to us for a second?"
"I-I'm busy, guys," she says apologetically. "Is it important?"
"Yes! Very important. Look, you need to help us- well, Grace, to be exact. You just- you just can't ask any questions, okay?"
"I don't think I understand... Grace, are you alright?"
"I- not really," I say, slightly pulling up the jacket's sleeve to reveal a mess of blood and fabric underneath.
"Let's find a room," Melissa nods immediately, once she's seen what's wrong. She leads us to an empty hospital room and tells me to go lie down on the bed.
"Stiles, can you help her take off that jacket?" she asks while opening a cabinet and starting to prepare stuff, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
"Yeah," he says, immediately pulling off the jacket, but paying attention not to hurt the wounds too much.
"Is it still bleeding?" Melissa asks.
"I- I don't know, I tried to bandage it with my tie, but I don't know if it helped or anything..." Stiles says.
Melissa reaches us and gently unwraps the tie from my arm, along with what's left of the sleeve of my dress. With a wet cloth and some kind of clear liquid product I don't recognise, she begins wiping away the blood and getting the wound clean.
"Fuck," I hiss in pain, my muscles tensing uncomfortably.
"I know, it stings," Melissa says. "Stiles... With wounds this size, this close to a major artery, you might've just saved her life."
Stiles just looks at Melissa, mouth slightly open, speechless.
"Was it bleeding profusely? Grace, do you feel lightheaded or nauseous, maybe confused? Or cold?" Melissa asks.
"Lightheaded, yeah," I say. "Like I might pass out."
"She's so fucking cold as well," Stiles says.
"Okay," Melissa nods. "Grace, this means you're showing symptoms of shock."
"That's... bad- isn't it?" Stiles asks.
"It just means we have to keep her warm and relaxed while I stitch her up," Melissa explains, reaching for a blanket to cover me with.
"How do you expect me to relax?" I ask, feeling a little out of place covered with a blanket.
"Well, I'm gonna inject something that's gonna numb your arm, so it's not gonna hurt for a while. And Stiles is here to talk to you and distract you, so you don't fall asleep or faint," she says, looking at him.
"Yep, I'm just gonna- oh- god," Stiles jerks his head down until he's staring at his hands when Melissa begins the injections.
"Don't like needles?" I ask him, a smile on my face. The injection stings, and it makes me bite my lip to force myself to stay quiet.
"Nope. Or wounds. Or blood. Basically anything that's happening to you right now," he says.
"You don't have to stay here," I say.
"No, I have to. I have something to make up."
Melissa finishes the last injection and desinfects my arm again.
"We'll have to wait at least a few minutes for it to kick in."
A silence sets in as I feel the pain in my arm disappear and make place for that weird fuzzy feeling, until I notice Melissa staring at me.
"What?" I ask.
"Are you feeling okay right now?" she asks.
"The pain's gone," I smile lightly. "I'm still sort of lightheaded. But better."
"I hope you're safe, Grace," she frowns. "I can't imagine how that happened, but-"
"We said no questions," Stiles says. "I'm sorry."
"Just tell me this one thing, so I don't feel too bad about myself for not pushing. Tell me you're safe now. That this won't happen again."
"I... I can't," I sigh, looking down. "I'm sorry..."
"It won't happen again," Stiles says, with a certain kind of strength to his voice. It makes me lift my head and look at him, his eyes already on me. "It won't."
There's a promise in there, for me. He's not lying to Melissa. He's promising the impossible. He's promising to protect me. Whatever it takes.
I grab his hand.
"Let's start stitching you up, then," Melissa says, more or less satisfied with the answer. "This is gonna take a while."
We're all quiet when Melissa begins, me relieved that this really doesn't hurt, watching her as she skillfully stitches the first gash. But then Stiles squeezes my hand just a little too hard, and I look to see his face is just a little too pale, and his eyes focused on my arm.
"Stiles," I smile. "Don't look. Just look at me. Look at my face."
He only manages a full second of eye contact before his cheeks and neck turn a lively shade of red, and then he sticks to staring at our hands. His is stained with dirt and dried blood, but it's his hand, and it's in mine, so it's good.
"I guess this is the time to say sorry," he begins quietly.
"For what?" I ask.
"For what happened earlier..."
Does he mean...?
"It shouldn't have happened," he adds.
"What?" I ask.
"I just- I'm sorry for yelling at you. I still agree with what I said, but I shouldn't have said it in that way," Stiles explains.
Oh. He's talking about the fight we had earlier today, before Peter, before the formal, before everything. It feels like such a long time ago.
"Okay," I nod. "But you were right. About everything. And I guess maybe if you didn't yell, it wouldn't have worked. You yelled some sense into me. Yeah, I'm sorry too, I said things I didn't mean, and..."
"I know," he says. "It's okay."
A worrying amount of stitches, and a bandage later, Melissa is done.
***
"Dad, tell us. Look, you know it has something to do with Derek," Stiles says. The sheriff raises his eyebrows.
"What? But I thought you said you barely knew him."
"All right, we might know him a little better than that," Stiles confesses.
"You do realise that I'm elected to this job, right?" Mr. Stilinski says.
"And if we help you figure this out, you'll be re- elected. Am I right? Dad, come on," Stiles tries.
"You know what? That girl in there has got nothing to do with a six-year-old arson case," the sheriff says. Unfortunately, since tonight, Lydia has more to do with it than he thinks.
"When did you decide it was definitely arson?" Stiles asks.
"When we got a key witness," he says. "And, no, I'm not telling you who it is, but yeah, yeah, we know it's arson. And it was probably organised by a young woman."
My stomach drops as I realise I know who did it - and I haven't told anyone.
"What young woman?" Stiles asks.
"If I knew that, she'd be in jail."
"Was she young then, or is she young now?" Stiles asks.
"She's probably in her late twenties," Mr. Stilinski answers, when his phone starts ringing. "Oh, I gotta grab this call."
"You don't know her name?" Stiles asks.
For some reason, I hope he doesn't.
"No, I don't- what is this? Twenty questions? All we know is that she had a very distinctive- what do you call it- a pendant."
Oh god.
"What the hell's a pendant?"
"Stiles, do you go to school? A pendant! A pendant! It's a necklace. Now, can I answer the phone?"
Stiles freezes in shock as he realises what that means.
"Yes," Stiles says. His dad walks off to take the call.
"It's Kate," he says. "It's your aunt, she..."
"I'm sorry," I say as our eyes lock. "I couldn't- I just couldn't tell anyone."
"How did you find out?" he asks.
"She told me. When she told Allison about werewolves and I tried to get Derek to escape? She told me. And I got mad. And- and she pushed me against the wall and said I was weak and then drugged me," I say.
"Jesus Christ. I- I'm so sorry. What the hell is wrong with her?"
"I don't know. I just don't know anything anymore," I say.
"We need to find Scott. We have to tell him and find out what's going on. If he found Derek at the same time Peter did... There's just so much happening," Stiles says, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
"Yeah. I just- I hope Allison's okay. But let's find him," I say.
"He must've made sure she was safe," he says, and we start to make our way to the exit, white walls and numbered doors whizzing past, until we come across Jackson, who stops us.
"Hey, where are you going?" he asks.
"To find Scott," Stiles answers.
"You don't have a car," Jackson remarks.
"We're aware of that. Thank you," I say curtly.
"Here, I'll drive. Come on-"
"Look, just because you feel guilty all of a sudden doesn't make it okay, alright? Half of this is still your fault," Stiles says.
"Look, I have a car. You don't. Do you want my help or not?" Jackson asks.
"Alright. Did you bring the Porsche?" Stiles asks.
"Yeah."
"Good. I'll drive," Stiles says, and we turn around to proceed to the exit, walking right into Chris.
"Boys. Grace. I was wondering if you can tell me where Scott McCall is," he says.
"Scott McCall? Uhm, haven't seen him since the dance. Grace, Jackson, you?" Stiles asks us.
"No, me neither. No clue," I play along. Me and Stiles look at Jackson expectantly. He just looks flustered.
"I..." is all he can muster.
"Oh, for the love of god," Stiles sighs.
"Let's try this again. Where is Scott McCall?" Chris asks.
"We've told you, we don't know," I say.
"Right," Chris says. "Ray?"
Someone I recognise from our hunter group approaches us, and we're forced into an empty room in the hospital, me unable to use one of my arms and the boys completely taken by surprise. Ray takes Jackson, pressing him against the wall so he doesn't move, and Chris does the same for me and Stiles. My cheek is pressed to the cold wall just like Stiles', and Chris' face is uncomfortably close.
"Let me ask you a question, Stiles," he begins. "Have you ever seen a rabid dog?"
"No. I could put it on my to-do-list list, if you just let me go," he answers.
"Well, I have. And the only thing I've ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon. Do you wanna know what happened?"
"Not really," Stiles says. "No offense to your storytelling skills."
"He tried to kill me, and I was forced to put a bullet in his head. The whole while that he lay there dying, he was still trying to claw his way toward me, still trying to kill me, like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath. Can you imagine that?" Chris asks.
"No. And it sounds like you need to be a little bit more select-"
"Did Scott try to kill you on the full moon? Did you have to lock him up? Were you there too, Grace?" he asks.
"Yeah, I was there," I say, having had it with my family. "We had to handcuff him to a radiator."
"Why do you ask?" Stiles adds. "Would you prefer we locked him in the basement and burned the whole house down around him?"
Fuck. That burns.
"I hate to dispel a popular rumor, Stiles, but we never did that," Chris says.
Does he know too? Is he still lying?
"Oh, right. Derek said you guys had a code. I guess no one ever breaks it," Stiles says.
"Never," Chris says. "Right, Grace?"
I lower my head and don't answer.
"What if someone does?" Stiles asks.
"Someone like who?" Chris asks. He realises Stiles knows something more.
"Your sister."