Chapter Text
Chapter One
Derek skid backwards in the dirt, grunting at the slice across his arm, more irritated that it ripped his jacket than his skin, because his skin healed up no problem. His jacket would require some stitching. The Omega took stance, her dark hair falling heavy around her face, fangs bared. He'd never seen her before, but he couldn't help but feel like something was off about her. The way she fought was vicious but not quite what he was used to when fighting other werewolves. Her style was more frantic, not quite as calculated usual. Though, he supposed Scott was a bit sloppy when he began fighting. Perhaps she was just new at it. Being a new werewolf and an Omega? He didn't wish that on anyone. He jumped for her slashing her across the chest, blood staining her ripped clothes. She gripped to the wound, her golden eyes wide and terrified.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”
Derek raised an eyebrow. “What?”
The girl crumpled at his feet. Derek sniffed the air, smoke pluming through the trees. The scent was spicy and pungent. It burned his nostrils and offended his senses. He shook his head, coughing as it overwhelmed the area. The girl kept clinging to his jeans, crying. Please. Please. Please.
“What do you want from me?” Derek choked out.
His wounds weren't healing as fast. His chest started hurting. He tried to pull away from her, but his head started spinning and he couldn't quite find his balance.
“Let me go!” He yelled at her gruffly. She kept begging him.
Then she started screaming. A bullet exploded into her skull. The edges of the wound quickly grew black, spreading and spreading until they consumed her. Blood poured from her lips and she collapsed to the ground, unmoving. Dead. Derek scrambled backwards, his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes darted around the woods for the source of the bullet. He didn't understand why he couldn't see it right away, feel it, something! He twisted and glared through the smoke.
His heart dropped.
Kate lowered her gun with a smirk, staring him down. And then she lifted it again and pointed it at him. Derek managed to stumble to his feet and run, the bullet exploding the ground where he'd been. The smoke around him was smothering him. His eyes watered and his lungs burned.
It was impossible. She was dead. She was supposed to be dead. He'd seen her dead body. Peter had ripped her fucking throat out. No. No. He could hear the dirt blasting behind him with bullets. He whirled around trees, coughing and wheezing with the smoke. His muscles twitched beneath his skin, but they felt heavy in his arms and legs. He forced himself to keep running, running, running until he finally broke free of the tree line, tumbling off the edge of a small cliff and into the river. His arm gave a painful crack on the way down, smacking against a boulder. The pain radiated up into his shoulder and he clenched his jaw, pushing himself to the cliffside where he couldn't be seen, an evading her onlooking eyes. He held his breath and waited. And waited.
His head ached.
She was gone.
It didn't make sense. Kate Argent was dead. That was a fact. It was without question, something he'd witnessed. He coughed into his uninjured hand and groaned. He wasn't healing. He hadn't gotten shot. There was no reason why he wouldn't be healing. His head swam and he toppled over onto the ground, shaking his head, trying to get his vision back to normal. When he managed to get it somewhat close, he got back to his feet and kept hoofing it.
Normally, he'd have no problem finding his car, but his senses failed him, and he was disoriented. Eventually, he managed to stumble upon it, and drove it into town, swerving a bit violently when he had a few particularly bad dizzy spells. He pulled to a stop when he just couldn't do it anymore. The world was spinning and his stomach was churning and he felt like he could hardly breathe. He couldn't go home. Kate was looking for him. Kate. Kate. Derek fell back against the side of his car, taking a shuddering breath, tasting copper on his tongue.
“H-how is this happening?” He felt like he had to verbalize it. Because none of it made any sense.
The Beta had begged him. Begged him. She hadn't set out to kill him at all. He glanced around languidly and tried to gather his bearings. He needed to talk to Deaton, but he also knew there was no way he was going to get there on his own. He dragged himself to his feet and trudged forward. God, his chest hurt. And his arm. Fuck, his arm.
He found it fascinating how nights were when people needed help. In small towns, everyone was gone, tucked away in their beds with their families, and the sidewalks basically rolled up at night. In big cities, people were out, but they carried on with their lives without taking a single look at anyone in need for fear they feel obligated to help. Blood trickled over his lips, dripping from his nose. He breathed slowly, his chest feeling hollow.
That was when he saw it. He fought the urge to sigh in relief. The Stilinski house was lit up like a beacon in the middle of a quiet street. Everyone else had gone to bed, but Derek knew better. With the Sheriff out on patrol, the youngest Stilinski wasn't about to be asleep at (Derek looked up at the moon) oh, probably one-thirty in the morning. He could see movement flickering through the upstairs curtains. His eyes rolled back for a moment and his knees threatened to buckle, but he pushed through.
He banged on the door. Probably a little too hard, but he was just a tiny bit desperate.
When Stiles opened the door he made a face, like he didn't realize right away what kind of situation they were in.
“What the fuck, Derek?” he asked in the most blasé way. “Why do you have to show up at my doorstep bleeding? You think it's badass or something?”
“Maybe a little surprising, considering normally I wouldn't be,” Derek responded curtly, his voice sounding raw in his throat.
Stiles's face fell with realization. “Come in.”
…
Derek flopped down on Stiles's kitchen floor before Stiles could pull a chair out for him. Derek certainly was pleased with the sentiment, but his legs finally gave out on him.
“Woah, woah,” Stiles said quickly in that panicky voice he got when shit went down. “You okay? You good?”
“Super,” Derek snarked, his head falling back against the cabinets.
Stiles shoved a towel under Derek's nose. “Why aren't you healing?!”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Well, at least you're in good spirits,” Stiles grumbled. Then he blanched. “HOLY SHIT. Dude. Your arm. Oh my God.”
Derek glanced at it with slow eyes. It was twisted and mangled at the wrist, bruised black and definitely broken.
Well. That was why it hurt.
“Derek. Derek.” Stiles snapped his fingers in front of Derek's eyes until he refocused. “Hey. We gotta get you to a hospital.”
“I need to talk to Deaton,” Derek wheezed before letting out a pained noise and curling into himself, his chest feeling like it was going to explode. “AGH, fucking hell!”
“Breathe, man. Breathe!”
Derek gripped at Stiles's sweatshirt. “I--- can't.” He sucked in air but it died at his throat until he started seeing spots.
Stiles smacked him on the back, and luckily, a little air got through. He slumped forward, half of him against Stiles's shoulder.
“Come on. Come on. We're gonna go see him, okay? But I can't carry you on my own, so you gotta help me. Help me help you, man.”
Derek curled his unbroken around Stiles's shoulders and pulled himself to his feet with all the effort he could. His knees wobbled a little under his weight, but Stiles helped even it out. The towel that had been shoved in his face fell to the floor, stained.
After a few god-awful minutes of lumbering to Stiles's Jeep, Derek was leaning against the window, willing the coolness of the glass to take the pain in his skull away. Or the pain in his arm. Or his chest. Or his back. Or anywhere, really. That would be nice. He wasn't feeling picky at the moment.
He blacked out for a minute. Maybe more. All he knew was that the ride was over quicker than it should've been, because they got to Deaton's in a blink.
Stiles ran into Deaton's office, leaving Derek in the Jeep. Derek stiffened in the seat, eying the area around him. She could be there, he thought. She could be there to kill him. Put a bullet through his brain until Wolfsbane ate him alive. But then Stiles was galloping back to him with Deaton in tow. When he opened the door of the Jeep, Stiles had to catch Derek, because he basically melted out of the door and toward the ground.
“I hope you're not being dramatic,” Stiles groaned, but there was an edge of concern to his voice.
Deaton reached out and helped Stiles drag Derek back inside.
…
Derek didn't like being dragged anywhere. He didn't like X-rays. And he didn't like casts. They were itchy. Getting his arm splinted sucked even more. He wasn't used to his bones not healing on his own. And his chest still ached. And his back. And his head. And everything still fucking hurt damn it.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” Deaton asked, but he was definitely suggesting Derek speak up immediately.
Derek swallowed but his throat was dry. He wiped at the dried blood on his face and it cracked and flaked off. “I saw... I saw... Kate.”
“Argent?!” Stiles choked. “That's impossible!”
“I know,” Derek said softly. “But that was who I saw. I... I ran across this Omega. And she wanted to fight me. She wouldn't let up. Sloppy...” Derek wheezed a little, slowing down his speech to catch his breath. “She didn't fight... like she should.” Derek winced, clutching his ribs. “And then she fell down... like she was in pain. And she was begging me.... please. Please. The place filled with... with smoke. And I saw her... Kate... she shot the Omega in the head. And then she started... shooting at me.”
Derek felt dizzy with the effort.
“Are you sure it was Kate? Maybe the smoke fooled you,” Stiles suggested.
Derek glared at him. “It was her.”
Stiles's lips thinned, his eyes flashing in irritation. “Okay, fine. It was her. What about you? She didn't shoot you. How'd you end up in such bad shape?”
“I don't know. I... ran from her. I fell into the river. Broke my arm. It won't heal.” Derek started coughing and it hurt all the way into his back. He flopped over, his head between his knees. “Nothing heals. And I... I don't feel right. I don't...” He coughed again and could taste blood in his throat.
“She must have been burning some kind of Wolfsbane. Luckily you only inhaled it, so you're going to have a really rough night, but you'll live.”
“Because my night has been going swimmingly.”
“I wouldn't recommend any more swimming for you, heh.” Stiles tried to joke. He tried really hard.
Derek threatened him with his eyes. He knew he didn't really have it in him to kill Stiles. Maybe not at that moment. But the threat was there. Stiles's half-hearted laugh died into nothing. Derek closed his eyes and leaned back.
“So this will pass in the next day or so?” he asked, exhausted.
“I'm going to go out to where you were and see if I can find the Wolfsbane ashes and try to mix up an antidote in case it doesn't, but being that it was airborne, I don't believe it will stay in your system long enough to do any permanent damage. I wouldn't suggest any cardio for a few days at least. And you're going to be pretty miserable until it works it's way out. Especially when your body starts returning to its normal state. It's going to be fighting the poison.”
“Fantastic,” Derek groused, his head feeling too heavy to be on his shoulders.
Stiles's reached over and pushed a palm to Derek's forehead. Derek didn't even react. “He's already running fever.”
“I can keep him here tonight.”
“No way,” Derek argued. “I'm not going to sit here and wait for Kate to inevitably show up. This is the first place she'll look. If she was burning the Wolfsbane, she'll know I need help.” Derek groaned. “I'll... I'll find a place.”
“You don't need to be by yourself right now, Derek,” Deaton argued, his soft voice stern.
“I don't--” Derek started to argue, but he didn't know how to finish the sentence.
“I got it,” Stiles said, albeit a little reluctantly. “My dad's working all night because of a – you guessed it – fire in the woods just outside of town. They suspect arson. And when they find the body of that Omega, he's definitely gonna be pulling a few extra shifts.” He sighed. “I can, uh, give Scott a call too.”
Derek grimaced at the idea of it. He didn't want Scott to see him like this. Scott was already fighting the idea of Derek being his Alpha. He didn't want to prove to him that he had a reason to be apprehensive.
“If you think you can handle it, Stiles, I trust you,” Deaton said gently. “But you need to understand that dealing with a werewolf in this state is much different than dealing with a human.”
“What, he'll be more cranky? I can manage. Meanwhile, you go check out that Wolfsbane. Maybe we can gather the pack to go look for Kate.”
Derek closed his eyes. “Peter's gonna be pissed.”
“Yeah, if he's not dead by morning. Not that that's ever stopped him before.” Stiles' heaved Derek off the exam table, his arm back around his shoulders. “Come on, Sourwolf. Let's get you home.”