Magic Bullet

I'm standing on a roof as tall as I need it to be. I'm able to see a majority of the town. My hearing expands out to inside homes. Kids are being put to rest, teens up in the night and some parents coming in late from work, including my own mother.


I'm about to jump down when a strong scent hits my nose. I search around for the source. I use my werewolf eyes to scan better in the dark. I see something speed past. I try to follow it with my eyes but it disappears too quickly.


Suddenly, a gun goes off. I stumble off the building but land on my feet. I go running but another shot goes off and this time I feel it hit me this time. It harshly grazes a little above my elbow but goes into a wall. I look down to see it has torn through my hoodie, shirt and deep into my skin. Blue smoke rises from it before I feel the pain.


Whoever hit me has to be still nearby. I run home and rush through my window. Scott is fast asleep with papers all over the floor and Stiles is asleep over half of them. I don't want to wake up either of them so I sneak off to the guest room. Instead of going straight to bed, I jump in the shower. It helps me get my thoughts together.


I walk leisurely to the shower, steam filling the room as I cut the shower on. The water pours down, it drips by my side, as my mind fades into dullness and everything is a foggy illusion. The sensation of the steamy water calms me; it takes my mind off things. All the things I honestly shouldn't worry about.


It's the water. My mind swirls, and it's like I'm standing under an everlasting waterfall. Ever so beautiful, but it can never last. I know that now. After my shower is finished, I take a look at my arm in the mirror. It looks much worse than I thought. There are black veins beginning to run along my arm. The wound is still bleeding but mostly looks burned.


I carefully wrap it from my bicep to my forearm. When I get in bed, I lie awake, reliving the moment over and over. The sound of that gun going off still rings in my head. It rings and will not stop. Whoever was shot might be in the news by tomorrow. The next day, I'm at locker texting my mom when Allison comes rushing up to me, frantic. "What are you doing?" she asks.


I awkwardly look up from my phone, glancing left to right. "Texting...at my locker..."


She closes my locker and pulls me down the hall by my bag. I have to make sure not to cry out in pain from my injured arm. She leads me to Lydia who's also at her locker. "My aunt is in town!"


"Kate?" I ask, rubbing my bandages. 


Lydia is completely confused. "What are you talking about?"


"My aunt, Kate, is finally coming to visit me."


This news brightens my day. I love being around Kate. She is always full of surprises. As I'm taking a book out my bag, Allison transitions into a conversation about Scott. "When I first moved here, I had a plan. Me and Scarlett both did. No boyfriends until college. I just move too much. But...then I met him, and... He was different. I...I don't know. I can't explain it."


"I can. It's your brain flooding with phenylethylamine," Lydia replies.


"What?" Allison and I say at the same time.


After school, Stiles and I settle on me going to his house today. In the parking lot, I catch up with Lucas by his car. At first, he tries ignoring me but I step in front of him, blocking the door. "Lucas, please. You've been ignoring me long enough."


He sighs and leans on his crutches. "Scarlett, why didn't you tell me about him?"


"He was an old fling in San Francisco. I didn't think it really mattered. I didn't even think he would follow me here."


"So you dated an abusive, stalking psychopathic asshole?"


"He never hit me before that day. How was I supposed to know he was going to do what he did?"


"I can't play because of him!"


"I didn't ask you to defend me!"


He sighs. "I did it because I care about you, a lot."


I put a hand on his face and press our foreheads together. "Lucas, I don't want to see you hurt again."


He puts a hand on my cast then runs his fingers on all my visible bruises. "I don't want to see you hurt, either." We break apart and I help him get in his car. Before he steps in, he asks me, "By the way, what's up with Stilinski?"


I look back and see Stiles by his Jeep, waiting for me. I look back and shake my head. "There's nothing going on between us. I told you that before."


I sit in the passenger seat of Stiles' Jeep while he pulls out of the parking lot. I rest my foot on his dashboard and, while I'm looking at my phone, I smell another werewolf and it isn't Scott. Just when I look up, Derek comes walking in front of the Jeep. Stiles slams on the brake.


I clutch my seat belt. Derek holds his hand up to signal us to stop and he collapses onto the ground. I jump out, along with Stiles. Scott follows behind. Derek looks pale and weak. "What the hell are you doing here?!" Scott asks.


"I was shot," is his only response.


From last night. "Why aren't you healing?"


"It was a different kind of bullet."


"Oh, a silver bullet?" Stiles asks, in an enthusiastic voice.


"No, you idiot," Derek says with a weak eye roll.


His eyes start glowing and his fangs are clearly visible. "Stop doing that," I say, glancing at the traffic behind the Jeep.


"I'm trying to tell you, I can't."


Wolfsbane, I think to myself. I clench my arm. Scott and I haul him into the passenger seat of Stiles' Jeep. "I hate you so much for this," Stiles says before driving off.


I hop in the back seat and Stiles skids off. The drive is completely silent. I notice Derek is looking more sick and pale by the minute. As we're driving, Stiles breaks the silence. "Try not to bleed out on my seats. We're almost there."


"Almost where?" Derek asks.


"Your house?"


"What? You can't take me there."


I lean in between the seats. "We can't take you to your own house?"


He glares at me. "Not when I can't defend myself."


I hate his glare. It scares and pisses me off the same time. Stiles comes to an immediate stop and parks by the curb. "What if Scott doesn't find your magic bullet? Hm? Are you dying?"


"Not yet but I have a last resort."


Derek then pulls up his sleeve and reveals a bloody gunshot wound that was deep and gushy. I clench my damaged arm and pry to the heavens mine doesn't look like that. Both me and Stiles cringe. "I think I'm gonna throw up everything I've eaten my whole life. What the hell is that?" I say.


"Is that contagious? You should probably just get out."


"Start the car, now."


"I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look. If I wanted to, I could drag your little werewolf ass into the middle of the road and leave you for dead."


I just shrug. "He could."


"Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out...with my teeth."


"He could also do that." Stiles stares at him for a second then reluctantly starts the Jeep. We drive around for hours and park on the side of the road again. I call Scott. "Scott, what are we supposed to do with him?" I ask.


"Take him somewhere."


"Take him where?"


Before he could respond, Stiles grabs the phone. "By the way, he's starting to smell."


I hear Scott ask what he smells like. "Like death."


Then Derek takes the phone. "Just find the bullet."


"There's a million bullets. It's like a bullet Walmart."


"I'm gonna die without it."


"That doesn't sound too bad right now."


I roll my eyes. "Tell me about it." Scott has to hang up so Chris wouldn't suspect anything. I sigh and rub my forehead. Stiles looks at me for help. "Just...take him to the clinic."


When we get there, we have to haul him into the animal hospital. We're lucky that Deaton isn't in. Derek strips off his shirt and I notice a black triple spiral tattoo in the middle of his back. Stiles tries to make things better but he doesn't help at all.  "That doesn't look like some Advil and a good night sleep can't handle."


"I have to stop it before it reaches my heart or it'll kill me."


"Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary," I reply.


"That looks pretty bad," Stiles is saying.


"I still have my last resort."


"Which is?" Stiles and I ask at the same time.


Derek turns with a handsaw. "One of you are gonna cut off my arm."


I almost puke thinking about it. Stiles looks just as pale as Derek now. He puts the saw down on the slab while he ties a blue rubber tie around his arm, above the black lines that show the wolfsbane surging through his veins, using his other hand and teeth. "What if you bleed to death?" I ask.


"It'll heal if it works."


If. Stiles picks up the saw to see how it works and put it back down with a sigh. "Look, I don't think either of us can do this," Stiles says.


"Why not?" Derek responds through his teeth.


"Well it's sawing through the flesh and through the bone," he explains.


"Especially the blood," I add.


"You two faint at the sight of blood?"


"No, we might at the sight of a chopped off arm," Stiles fires back


"Okay, how about this: you cut off my arm or I'll cut off your head."


"Okay, I'm so not buying your threats."


Derek, in one hand, grabbed the sleeve of my shirt and Stiles by the collar. "Okay, we'll do it," Stiles says.


Derek starts to look like he was about to puke. He puts his head over the side and up-chucks blood. I feel everything I had for breakfast and lunch, almost come up. "What the hell is that?" I exclaim.


"It's my body. It's trying to heal itself."


"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it," Stiles mumbles.


"Now, you have to do it now."


Stiles picks up the saw but hesitates. "I don't think-"


"Just do it!"


He places the saw by the blue band and sucks in a lot of breath. "Okay, here we go!"


He was just about to saw into Derek's arm but I heard the door open and I smell a familiar scent. Scott. "Stiles?" he calls.


"Scott?"


Scott comes in and looks shocked. "What the hell are you doing?"


Stiles gladly drops the saw and runs his fingers through his short hair. "You just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."


Scott hands the bullet to Derek but he couldn't hold on to it long enough before he passes out. The bullet rolls into a small hole with a grill over it. "Dammit, Scott."


He tries to get it but he can't reach it through the grill. Stiles is trying to make Derek come to. "I can't get it," Scott says.


"Scott, I think he's dead," Stiles panics.


"Stop, both of you!" I yell.


They both look at me with confusion. I kneel down next to Derek. I grab his face and take in a deep breath. I press one hand over his wound and focus on healing instead of just taking the pain. I crush my lips to his cold ones, tasting nothing but copper and blood. I hear his heart start to pick up so I pull back. I lift my hand and the wound is gone and the black veins begin to fade. His eyes fly open. He takes a second to look around and I notice he starts to regain his color. "You just..." Scott is too shocked to speak.


I feel my face turn red. "That was...awesome!" Stiles says.


I only purse my lips and nod. "Are you okay now?" I ask.


"On the side of the excruciating pain," Derek replies.


"Well the use of sarcasm is a good sign," Stiles points out.


Derek tries to warn us to stay away from the Argents but Scott isn't hearing it. Neither am I. Stiles drives me home and I leave in the middle of the night to go find Derek. When I see him, he is standing in his usual window. I go inside and I look up at the huge staircase. Derek appears to the right and he doesn't seem phased that I'm here. "Who shot you, Derek?" I ask.


"Her name is Kate Argent."


"Allison's aunt?"


I look down and he catches it. "You know her, don't you?"


It was my turn to shake my head. "No, I... I was thinking about Scott and Allison."


He squints his eyes. "Okay... Anyways. You saved me. Why?"


"You saved me. I owed you that."


"I have to ask. Did you...feel anything?"


I hesitate with my answer. This could be a simple question or a way to test to see if I like him. I stuff my hands in my pocket. "Derek, I...I was doing the right thing. I, um, should go. My mom might notice I'm gone."


I walk out and try to breathe. I hate what he does to me when I'm with him. I feel like we have some kind of special link that always sends me back to him no matter what. When I look my arm again, the wound is completely gone. Was I shot by Kate that night? Did she know it was me and fired on purpose?


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