Wolf's Bane

Chapter One

 Derek slammed his back against the tree and coughed violently as blood spilled from his mouth. Derek's body was screaming at him, and his ankle was most likely sprained; he had a few broken ribs, but those didn't matter to him because those could heal. What worried Derek was the bullet wound on his side; his hands were stained with blood, and more was pooling out from the wound. The werewolf hissed in pain as he peeled his t-shirt up, staring at the small bullet hole that glowed blue; the thick black lines spiderwebbed across the werewolf's pale skin and sent another shockwave of pain through the male's body. Derek shuddered, pushed himself off the tree, and continued stumbling forward. 

Derek's vision blurred as he stumbled onto the road, raising a bloodied hand to his face as a pair of headlights appeared out of nowhere; suddenly, the car slammed on their brakes, inches away from Derek's legs. "Derek?" A familiar voice called. The werewolf went to open his mouth to speak, but suddenly, everything started spinning, and the next thing the male knew, we were hitting the pavement. "Shit, Derek!" The voice shouted, followed by a door slammed shut, causing the other to flinch slightly. A pair of hands wrapped around Derek, and a groan came from above him. "Alright, hold on, Der. I got you." The voice whispered before everything went dark.  

***

When Derek regained consciousness, he found himself in a bedroom; scanning the darkened room, the werewolf inhaled softly. Stiles. Panic bubbled in the male's chest as he tried to push himself up, but a firm hand pushed down. "Don't move, Der; Scott and Deaton are trying to find the bullet right now; you need to rest." The teen whispered, slowly removing his hand from the other's chest. The teen sighed, replacing the rag on Derek's forehead, followed by the male sticking a thermometer into the werewolf's mouth. A few minutes later, a soft beep came from the device; Stiles pulled the thermometer out of Derek's mouth, grimacing. 

Stiles pushed himself out of his chair, disappeared into his bathroom, and reappeared with a large basket of medical supplies a few moments later. Stiles set the basket on his dresser, "This is probably going to hurt and be awkward." He stated, gently lifting the bloodied shirt. 

"It's not the first time you've seen me shirtless, Stiles," Derek said, sitting up slightly and pulling his shirt off, letting it fall to the ground with a wet plop. Hissing as he laid back down. "Sorry about your bed." He whispered. 

"Sheets can be changed anytime; you can't," Stiles stated with a sad smile. 

The younger male stared at the small bullet wound for a long moment before the teen tore open some gauze and cotton balls, dipping them into alcohol, and gently wiped the blood away from the injury, earning a hiss from the injured male, as well as blood pooling from the bullet wound. "W-W-What's wrong?" Derek asked, letting out a small groan. 

Shaking his head, the male surrounded the wound with gauze and started wrapping the wound. "Nothing. Just close your eyes and sleep." Stiles lied. 

"You're a terrible liar, Stiles," Derek stated. 

Stiles stared at Derek for a long moment, watching the werewolf let out a shuddered breath, "It's just a fever; you'll be fine." The teen said. 

"If it's just a fever, why do you look so worried?" The werewolf quizzed. 

"Because your fucking Derek Hale, werewolf badass. You're not going out to a stupid fucking fever." The younger male shouted, startling the other male. 

The older male chuckled softly, which morphed into a harsh, wet cough. "Don't you trust Scott?" Derek asked. 

Stiles scoffed, gently wiping the sweat from either side of Derek's forehead. "Of course I do, but still, there is a chance they'll not make it in time, and I refuse to have the last remaining Hale die of a fucking fever," Stiles growled.