Author's Note: just a mild warning, but I really don't like Kate, so Ami doesn't either. There may be a bit of language in these next few chapters. Also, thanks to all my awesome reviewers!
Marine 76-Glad you like it!
Ash B Bramble-Yes, but probably not until the beginning of season 2
Psychotic Smartypants- don't worry, I will!
Chapter 8-Magic Bullet
It was the gun shot that woke me and made me realize Derek was gone. I found a note in his vacated spot, and read it aloud in the moonlight. "Something's up. Went out to find it. If not back for school, take the Camaro. Go straight to work after school," I read. Sighing, I dropped the note on the floor and curled up in what remained of Derek's warm spot.
Then I heard the howl, and shot up with a cry. It was the Alpha, and he was angry. And I was alone. "Oh my god, Derek, Scott come home, now," I whispered, realizing the two Betas had gone Alpha hunting. I sat up by the window waiting until my phone alarm went off in my bag. I was going to kill Derek for leaving me behind. I was not some damsel from the fairytales content to sit and wait at home for her knight in shining armor to arrive. If my brothers were out hunting, I wanted to be out hunting too.
I got dressed reluctantly, having showered at Scott's the night before, and was using the big mirror I'd brought up from the living room to do my hair when the front door opened. "Ami, bring the first aid kit," Derek called up the stairs. My heart skipped a beat at the pain in his voice, and I dove for my duffel bag. Pulling the black box from the bottom of my bag, I ran down the stairs to find him laying towels out over the table in the living room. But I noticed that his left arm was cradled against his side.
"What happened? I heard the gun shot," I said.
"Did you hear the shotgun or the rifle?" he asked, spreading out the last towel.
My eyes went wide and I thought about it. "Shotgun," I remembered.
"She was shooting at the Alpha. Then she got me with her rifle," he groaned.
"You moron. You went after the Alpha, and he led you straight into the Hunter," I snapped, opening the newly assembled first aid kit. Derek had made me put it together after our little incident with Argent. But I think we'd both assumed that we'd need it for me.
Derek rolled up his sleeve and I took a sharp breath. "I need you to get the bullet out," he told me. I moved closer, inspecting the bruise colored bullet wound. The skin immediately around the wound was discolored, and I really didn't like the idea of digging around in his arm for the bullet. "I won't be able to heal with the bullet in the way," he explained, seeing the color drain from my face.
"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "Okay, I'll do it," I decided, rolling up the sleeves of my red button down shirt. I kicked off the matching red pumps I was wearing and dropped to my now bare feet a good three inches lower than I had been. I took the tweezers from the black box and hesitated over his arm.
"Do it, Ami. Don't think about it," he ordered. I nodded, took a deep breath, and eased the tweezers into the wound. I swallowed at the sound and feeling moving flesh made, and forced myself to dig for the bullet. Next to me, Derek snarled, his other hand clawing at the top of the table.
"Shhh, Derek, it's okay. Just hold on," I soothed, hating the amount of pain I was putting him through. "I'm almost done, I've got the bullet," I assured the agonized wolf. And then, of course, things had to get complicated. The bullet stuck, and I wasn't getting it free without ripping Derek's flesh. "Damn hunter. Derek, it's stuck. I think the bullet was that kind that curls into barbs to cause more damage. I can't get it out without hurting you," I explained.
"Ami. Just. Rip. It. Out," Derek ordered in his scary voice. I swallowed, nodding, and yanked. The bullet tore free and Derek howled in pain. He snapped at me, his eyes flashing blue as I ducked. I backed away, letting him calm down while I took out the alcohol disinfectant thing he'd given me. Laying out the roll of bandages, I found a few pieces of gauze and approached cautiously. Derek was panting, his shoulders heaving, but I took his wrist gently. He let me stretch his arm out and carefully start to clean the wound with the disinfectant. My lip curled up in a grimace at the smell, and I knew it stung. A gauze pad went over the wound, and I taped it down before wrapping the stark white bandage around his arm.
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked as he moved away.
"Go to school, Ami. Take the Camaro," he replied heavily, heading up the stairs. I followed, watching him fall onto the mattress as I picked up my bag. The keys were in his jacket pocket. Downstairs, I put my shoes back on, pulling on my tan and white jacket as I did. I left with one last glance to the bedroom window, and then drove off.
School was absolute torture. I was too worried about Derek to pay attention to any of my classes. The feeling in my stomach just got worse and worse, and I honestly didn't know how I made it through the day without snapping at anyone, not even Harris. Then I had to wait, bouncing impatiently, for Jackson to cram his stuff into our locker before I could get my homework and rush back to Derek. I finally leaned back against the lockers, waiting, hidden behind the locker door and Jackson's size difference over me.
"Where's Scott McCall?" Derek's voice asked.
Jackson shut the door, revealing that Derek really was there, and I gasped. He looked so much worse than he had this morning. "Why should I tell you?" Jackson replied, and I hit him.
"Because I asked you politely and I only do that once," Derek responded. Though he looked like the walking dead, he managed to make the threat sound very real.
"Okay, tough guy," Jackson sneered. "How about I help you find him if you tell me what you're selling him. What is it? Is it, uh, die-in-a-ball? HGH?
"Scott's not on drugs and Derek isn't a dealer!" I snapped, punching him as hard as I could in the side before slipping under Derek's arm.
"Steroids?" Derek asked. I looked up at him, knowing that tone well. I needed to get him out of here before he really hurt Jackson. Derek scoffed and I started to lead him away.
"No, girl scout cookies," Jackson stepped into Derek's path, completely ignoring me. "What the hell do you think I'm talking about?" the blonde demanded. "By the way, whatever it is you're selling, I probably stop sampling the merchandise," he added with transparent concern. "You look wrecked."
"Yeah, Whittemore, because he's sick. That's why we need to find Scott," I snapped. Derek looked down to his hand, and I saw something fall out of the corner of my eye. When I looked, I realized it was blood, and there was something very, very wrong.
"I'll find him myself," Derek decided, pushing passed Jackson. He took me with him, propelling me forward.
"No, we're not done here," Jackson snapped, grabbing Derek's shoulder. Derek whirled, knocking me to the floor before I even saw him move. He knocked Jackson's arm away and pinned him to the lockers by the back of his neck.
"Derek, don't," I protested too late. Derek ripped his hand off Jackson's neck, and I felt my eyes widen at the sight of the bloody claws. Derek grabbed me, lifting me up by one arm, and pulled me against him as he fell into the wall. I looked up at his face and realized he was listening to someone. Then the bell rang, and he jumped. I winced, since we were standing right under it.
"Scott's going to Allison's after school," he told me. I swore softly and let him lean on me when he started walking again. "Get me to the parking lot," he requested.
We were at the edge of the lot when I saw Stiles' Jeep approaching and told Derek. He broke away from me, and before I could stop him, stepped out in front of Stiles. The blue Jeep slammed on the brakes, and I rushed forward as Derek collapsed. "What the hell?" Scott asked Stiles as he ran over. "What are you doing here?" my "twin" brother demanded, kneeling beside Derek's legs.
"I was shot," Derek explained.
"He's not looking so good, dude," Stiles realized.
"He's getting worse," I said, holding Derek up from behind.
"Why aren't you healing?" Scott asked, frantic.
"I can't," Derek replied, "It was a different kind of bullet." At this, he looked over his shoulder at me, and I understood.
"A silver bullet?" Stiles exclaimed.
"No, you idiot," Derek snapped.
"Wait, wait; that's what she meant when she said you only had forty-eight hours," Scott realized.
"What? Who said forty-eight hours?" Derek demanded.
"The woman who shot you," Scott told him. Derek tensed, and it must have been a mistake, because his back arched as his head went up. I could feel the quick presence of his wolf, and guessed his eyes had shifted. Scott looked around frantically as horns beeped behind Stiles, and he gasped, "What are you doing? Stop that!"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you! I can't!" Derek's voice was rougher, and I knew he was losing control of the shift. I murmured to him, trying to soothe him enough to control the shift as his shoulders heaved.
"Derek, get up," Scott ordered. Derek tried, but I couldn't lift him, especially not while wearing three inch stilettos. "Help me get him in your car," Scott ordered Stiles. The skinny teen yanked open the Jeep door as Scott lifted Derek with ease.
Scott leaned on the door as the wounded wolf said, "I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used."
"How am I supposed to do that?" Scott demanded, appalled.
"She's an Argent, she's with them," Derek assured him.
"Why should I help you?" my legal brother protested, but I wasn't close enough to slap him upside the head. In fact, I was backing towards the Camaro.
"Because you need me," Derek reminded him.
"Fine, I'll try," Scott said as Stiles climbed into the driver's seat. "Get him out of here," he ordered Stiles.
"I hate you for this some much," Stiles replied, but he started the Jeep and sped off.
I hurried for Derek's car as fast as my three inch heels would let me and felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out as I slid into the car to see that it was Stiles calling. "What?" I answered, hitting speaker phone so I could drive.
"Go to the house, Ami. Clear out our stuff. If the hunters know I'm wounded, that's the first place they'll look," Derek told me.
"Alone?" I realized.
"Take off those ridiculous shoes and make it quick," he ordered.
"Ami, what's his last resort?" Stiles called.
I felt the color drain from my face and screamed, "Derek don't! Stiles don't let him, no matter what he threatens to do!"
Then I heard them fighting over the phone, a growl, and Derek said, "Be careful, Ami," before the phone went dead.
If my mom had seen the way I was driving, she would have died of a heart attack. But Derek would have been proud. All the Hales would have been. I drove like one of them to reach the Hale house. Yanking my heels off, I ran up to the bedroom first, grabbing the two duffel bags Derek insisted stay neat for times like this. I threw them in the backseat before running back in to grab the first aid kit from the living room. The blood-stained towels were gone from the table, but I still raced around the house to make sure I hadn't left something somewhere.
I called Stiles when I was done and found them parked on the side of the road easily enough. Stiles stuck his head out the window and called, "Go to the clinic! Let us in the front door!" I waved, acknowledging that I'd heard, and sped up. The Jeep pulled onto the road behind me, but it was old, and Stiles couldn't push it to keep up with me. When they pulled into the clinic, I'd already hidden the Camaro out back and gone in with the spare key. Stiles helped Derek in, the wolf trying to take his shirt off, and I realized he was burning from the inside.
I stopped Derek just long enough to get the shirt off him, and saw the triscalade tattooed on his back. Then he set his arm down on the table, and I gasped. Black veins throbbed up and down his whole arm, the bullet wound itself a disgusting, infected mess of red blood and flesh. Blood ran down his arm, and I had to step back. "You know that really doesn't look like anything some Echinacea and a good night's sleep couldn't take care of," Stiles babbled, completely grossed out.
"This isn't a cold, Stiles!" I snapped, moving to Derek's side.
"If the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me," Derek told me, meeting my terrified blue eyes as he turned towards the instrument draws.
"Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Stiles observed sarcastically.
"He doesn't get here with the bullet in time, last resort," Derek added to me as he opened the medicine drawer.
"Scott will be here on time, Derek," I assured him, but I knew he could hear the pleading in my voice.
"Which is?" Stiles prompted.
Derek held up the saw, and I stepped back, swallowing. He turned to Stiles and said, "You're gonna cut off my arm." Stiles paled, and I tried to take the saw from Derek. But he placed it on the table and shoved it at Stiles.
The idiot held it up, and looked like he might be sick. He pressed the switch, and the saw buzzed to life. "Oh my god," Stiles gasped, dropping the tool onto the table. Derek tied a blue elastic band around his bicep to act as a tourniquet, and Stiles tried to reason with him. "What if you bleed to death?"
"It'll heal if it works," Derek said around the elastic in his teeth.
"That's a pretty big if," I murmured.
"Look, I don't know if I can do this," Stiles said, his gaze locked on Derek's arm.
"Why not?" Derek demanded, still trying to tie the elastic. But I didn't move to help him, trying to delay as long as I could for Scott.
"Well, because, the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of bone, and especially the blood!" Stiles retorted.
Derek clenched his jaw and challenged, "What, you faint at the sight of blood?"
"I will," I whispered.
"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm," Scott's best friend replied. Though I was gagging, I had to give him credit. He was remarkably good at standing up to Derek.
Derek sighed, shaking his head, and said, "Alright fine, how about this? You cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head."
"Okay, you know, I'm so not buying your threats anymore," Stiles replied. Derek reached out across the table, grabbed Stiles' shirt front, and pulled the younger boy forward. "Oh my god, okay, alright, sold, totally, I'll do it," Stiles submitted instantly. Then Derek heaved, twice, and Stiles asked, "What? What are you doing?"
Derek leaned over the side of the table and vomited. Black liquid-Derek's infected blood-splattered onto the floor and I jerked back with a yelp. My bare feet and probably the lower part of my black jeans were covered in black splotches, and I gasped, thoroughly horrified. "Holy god, what the hell is that?" Stiles gagged.
"It's my body. It's trying to heal itself," Derek explained, spitting into the puddle.
"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it," Stiles said, sounding like he was seconds away from losing his own lunch. I had to swallow several times when the smell hit me, and I immediately started searching the cabinet for bleach or cleaning disinfectant. I was going to puke too if that stayed on the floor.
"Now, you gotta do it now," Derek breathed, resting his head on the end of the table. Instantly, I turned from the cabinet, bleach in hand and forgotten, biting my lip to keep from whimpering.
"Look, honestly, I don't think I can," Stiles told him.
"Just do it!" Derek roared. Now I could hear the fear in his voice, and I couldn't stop the whimper of distress.
"Oh my god, okay, okay," the skinny teen grabbed the saw and turned it on, placing it on Derek's arm.
"Oh my god," I squeaked, picking up Derek's shirt to hide my face.
"Oh god, alright, here we go," Stiles said, and I cried out.
"Stiles?" Scott's voice could not have sounded any sweeter than it did in that moment. I gasped, dropping Derek's shirt, and sank to the floor.
"Scott?" Stiles asked completely dumbfounded by the timing.
"What the hell are you doing?" Scott cried, rounding the corner.
Stiles breathed out a kind of ragged, relieved laugh, dropping the saw, and said, "Oh you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."
"Did you get it?" Derek asked weakly from the table. Scott pulled the bullet from his pocket, handing it over to the pale, sweaty, and still dying wolf. Said wolf held it up under the light, blinking like he was disoriented.
Scott lifted me up to my feet, taking in the black stains as Stiles asked, "What are you gonna do with it?"
"I'm gonna…I'm gonna," Derek started, his voice weak, and he swayed on his feet. His hand dropped to the table, the bullet bouncing off the floor before it rolled under a side table and into a drain.
"Shit!" I gasped, diving behind Derek as he fell backwards, unconscious. I caught his head in my lap before it hit the concrete floor as Scott dove after the bullet.
Stiles scrambled around the table to kneel over Derek, slapping his face a couple of times. As he called Derek's name, he ordered the wolf to wake up. "Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?" he asked.
"I don't know!" Scott cried, stretching to reach into the grate. "I can't reach it," he realized.
"He's not waking up," Stiles reported, on the verge of panic. "I think he's dying, I think he's dead," Stiles gasped.
"Just hold on!" Scott snapped.
"Keep trying!" I ordered, slapping Stiles' hands away from Derek. I pressed two fingers to his throat, and found a butterfly pulse. It was faint, and rapid, but it was there. "He's alive! Stiles, hit him, hard! We have to shock him awake," I realized.
"I got it!" Scott cried, scrambling to his feet.
"Please don't kill me for this," Stiles pleaded, punching Derek across the face. The wolf jerked awake as Stiles reeled back, gasping, "Ow!" He was shaking out his hand, holding it, and I winced.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Did you?" Derek asked Scott, taking the offered bullet. The younger Beta lifted Derek, ordering me to help, and I pushed Derek upright as I stood. Derek leaned over the table, biting the bullet free from the casing and gun powder. He spit it onto the table as he dropped the casing, and whacked it against the table top.
Silvery powder fell from the bullet, and I jerked back. "Wolfsbane," I realized. Derek nodded, pulling the lighter from his pocket, and lit the powder on fire. It flared up, crackling as it gave off sparks like Fourth of July sparklers. The boys leaned back, away from the heat I could feel even with Derek standing mostly in front of me. Then Derek swept the powder into his palm, and looked at the wound. "Oh no," I realized, stepping towards Stiles as he made up his mind.
Slamming his hand with the powder over the wound, Derek pressed the powdered Wolfsbane into the bullet hole. Blue smoke rose from his arm as he roared, in a human voice, in agony. He doubled over, shoving me away from him as he went down on his back with an extremely deep yell of pain. I covered my mouth with my hands, fighting the urge to go to him or just simply faint as I watched him arc up away from the floor with a yell.
He sat up enough to look at the wound, and I knew I'd never seen a look of such intense pain on his face. As he actually screamed in pain, he roared, this time as a wolf. Then I watched in horrified awe as the black veins retreated and the hole sewed itself shut. Blue smoke rose from the wound as it scarred and then vanished all together.
"That was awesome! Yes!" Stiles cheered. Scott turned to look at him with such an incredulous look that I didn't even bother hitting Stiles for his stupidity. Instead I helped Derek sit up, moving to kneel beside him. He rested his forehead against my shoulder, and I flinched at the heat still coming off his body.
"Are you okay?" Scott asked.
"Well except for the agonizing pain," Derek nodded, getting up.
"Guess the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," Stiles declared. Derek glared at him, and I reached for the elastic.
"Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone," Scott told him. I whipped around, stunned. "You got that?" Scott asked, ignoring me entirely. "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!" Scott replied.
"No, Scott, they really aren't," I sighed.
"I can show you exactly how nice they are," Derek told him, and I turned my back on the teen boys. I looked up at the wolf before me, and he met my eyes. His glare softened a bit, and he nodded to me.
"What do you mean?" Scott asked.
"First we clean up in here," the older wolf decided. I nodded, picking up the bleach only to have it taken from my hands. "Go clean your feet off," Derek murmured in my ear, and I saw that Scott and Stiles were already wetting down paper towels. But the infected blood wasn't so easily removed. I sat on the toilet in the ladies' room for twenty minutes, scrubbing away at my feet before it all came off. When I touched the bottoms of my jeans, I found they too were stained, so I rolled up the hem to hide the marks.
Derek was waiting outside the bathroom, wearing his shirt and jacket, Scott sitting in a chair behind him. Stiles was gone, and I let Derek carry me out back to the Camaro without protest. I climbed into the backseat, moving the duffel bags so I could slip in. Scott got into the passenger seat, and I thought something clicked when Derek handed me my shoes and bag. "You drove his car?" Scott gasped, turning to face me when I handed over the keys.
"Just from school to the clinic," I lied, "You made Stiles take Derek." He nodded, satisfied, and within a few minutes, we'd pulled up to one of my least favorite places in the world.
Derek let me out of the car as Scott asked, "What are we doing here?" But neither Derek nor I answered. The older wolf strode angrily through the long term care home until we reached the right room, and I waited inside the doorway as Derek moved to stand over the wheelchair bound man. "Who is he?" Scott asked.
"My uncle, Peter Hale," Derek replied calmly.
"Is he…like you, a werewolf?" my adoptive brother asked.
"He was," My older brother replied, "Now he's barely even human. Six years ago, my sister and I were at school. Our house caught fire. Eleven people were trapped inside. He was the only survivor."
"So, what makes you so sure that they set the fire?" the smaller wolf pushed.
"Because they were the only ones who knew about us," the taller young man explained.
"They had a reason," Scott told him.
Derek's eyes narrowed and he asked, "Like what? You tell me what justifies this." He grabbed Uncle Peter's wheelchair and turned him, revealing the burned half of his face. I knew by the lines in Scott's shoulders and back that he really hadn't been expecting 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 told him. "This is what they do. And it's what Allison will do," he added as the final blow.
"What are you doing here?" a young female nurse asked, "How did you even get in here?"
Derek spoke, assuring her, "We were just leaving." He pulled Scott's arm, bringing my brother after us as he put a hand on my shoulder.
Derek drove us home, and once Scott disappeared into the house, I turned to him. "Are you really okay?" I asked, taking my shoes off again.
"I'm fine, Ami. Look, sleep here for a few nights, okay? It'll be safer until we figure out the hunters," he replied. I nodded, but left him with my duffel bag. He kissed my forehead before getting back in the car and speeding away, his tail lights eventually being swallowed by the darkness.