~Stiles
"I couldn't believe it, Deaton. He was dead."
"The body is an extraordinary thing Scott. The sheer will to survive can have just as much healing power as powerful medications."
"When do you think he'll wake up?"
I try and make a sound, but nothing comes out. It feels like my lungs are full of matches.
"Hopefully soon. He will when his body is ready."
The voices get quieter and disappear as sleep overtakes my body again.
********************************************
The darkness is disappearing, becoming replaced by a dull glow. As my vision becomes clearer I realize that it's the light shining through my eyelids. Slowly, I let my lids drift open and attempt to take in my surroundings.
I recognize the room that I'm in instantly. I've spent enough time in Scott's room to have every inch of the thing memorized.
I hear voices again, hushed tones whispering... Except their from...Downstairs?
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of tire wheels, screeching. I whip my head to look outside on the street, but there are no cars to be seen. Where is that coming from?
I answer my own question as I see a car pull onto a street, three streets away. I hear a faint crunch as the wheel rolls over a piece of green glass on the left side of the road.
How can I even see that? My body stills in sudden realization as I hear footsteps crossing through the kitchen downstairs.
I hold my hands in front of my face, watching as my fingernails slowly begin lengthening into thick, grainy claws. I scream at the top of my lungs.
Scott is in the room in seconds at my scream, grabbing my clawed hands as he sits on the side of the bed.
"Stiles, calm down. Just breathe. I promise you, it's gonna be okay."
I can't stop my body from shivering as he wraps an arm around me, trying to control me from spiraling into a massive panic attack. I start taking deep breaths, mostly out of fear at what I might do if I lose control.
"How did it happen..." My voice is quivering as I listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat, trying to calm myself down through the rhythmic beating.
He pauses before answering, giving me a look of half sadness, half something I couldn't recognize. "You died, Stiles. Right in front of me. So Derek..." He looks down at our hands, taking a deep breath. "Derek had to bite you. To save you."
At the mention of Derek's name, all of the memories rush back. Earlier at the club, the intruder in the loft, Derek sniffing the pillow and shifting...
Derek punching through the window...
Derek clawing me in the chest...
I reach my hands up to my ribs, searching for the open wounds that should have been there but only feeling soft, warm skin under my fingertips. Scott looks at me with such guilt, no doubt fearing my reaction to the memories.
"So... The bite worked. I'm a werewolf."
He relaxes his gaze slightly at my statement. "Yeah dude."
"Where's Derek?"
Another pause. "We don't know."
I stare at him for the longest time. "What do you mean you don't know?"
"He left as soon as he knew you were going to make it. We haven't seen him since." Scott looks down at the sheets, tracing the patterns of the stiches with his finger. "He's broken. He blames himself for everything. I could sense his emotions as he was leaving, and I have never seen him that low."
I'm almost too afraid to ask my next question. "How long have I been out?"
He answers almost too quietly for me to hear, even with my new abilities. "Five days."
It's only then that I notice the IV sticking in my arm and the unbelievable hunger washing through my body. I push aside thoughts of myself just as quickly as they arrive to focus on the only thing important to me right now. "I have to find him."
Before Scott can say anything I rip the IV out, throw the sheets off and leap through the window in search of any trace of Derek, terror making itself obvious in my mind as I fear what condition I might find him in.
Everything is a blur beside me as I run, faster than I ever have before through the woods. Trees rush by in swatches of green and brown, tinted red by the shade of color placed over my vision. I can hear Scott yelling, all the way back at his house. I hear a deer eating a hundred yards away. I hear cars rushing by on the highway, miles from where I am. I hear everything.
"DEREK!"
I stop running immediately. The voice that just came from my throat isn't mine. It's ferocious, a growl of a predator- not the sound of a pale, skinny human. It's the sound of absolute, undeniable power.
Maybe I should test this out. I feel air rushing in my chest as I inhale, my lungs inflating to the point of bursting before I release an earth-shattering howl into the deep forest.
After the sound stops ringing through the woods, I cock my head to the right and listen. The reply comes almost a full minute later, a weak, mournful howl far to the left. I would recognize that howl anywhere.
The world is blurring again as I run, following the echoes of Derek's response through the preserve and up to the riverbank. Which is where I see him, sitting in the mud, head in his hands... shaking.
I stand by the edge of the forest and watch him for a few moments, observing the dirt on his clothes, under his fingernails, in his hair. My blood is all over his shirt and pants. He's obviously been out here for days, not even going home to change. I take a hesitant step forward.
"Derek." My voice is softer now, not quite as soft as how it used to be but not nearly as intense as it had been before. He doesn't move but I can hear his breath hitch as I take another step.
"Derek, look at me. Please." I've walked all the way up to the riverbank, standing directly behind him before squatting down to rest on the backs of my calves. He hasn't moved, hasn't taken a breath since I called out his name. I slowly reach a hand forward and place it on his shoulder, which is when he finally looks up at me. I can't help but let out a gasp.
His eyes are completely red, not just in the irises but also the whites. There's dried blood all over his face, my blood, with small clear lines snaking their way down to his chin from his tears. But the most shocking thing is the look of absolute emptiness in his eyes. He looks as if someone literally took away his soul and left him just an empty shell.
Before I can even think I'm holding him in my arms, squeezing tighter than I have ever been able to as I stroke his hair with one hand and his back with the other. His arms don't move, just stay limply at his sides while I hug him with complete assurance. Only he's still not moving, at all, besides his breathing.
I hold him away from my face, just slightly, before I realize just how empty he really is. If werewolves can be in shock, then Derek's currently being electrocuted. I pick him up around the waist so he's standing beside me, still unable to move or look around. I pull his arm around my shoulder and start the long, slow walk back to Scott's, calling Deaton on the way.
