transcendent ༜stiles stilinski༜ [1] (UNDER EDITING)

5| Emotions

"One of us is going to what?" I ask in disbelief as he pulls off his shirt revealing a satisfying six pack.

I playfully hit Stiles' abdomen. He rolls his eyes. Derek ties a light blue, elastic rubber around his arm tightly. And I feel myself get lightheaded at the sight.

"Oh my God," I utter out.

"What if you bleed to death?" Stiles asks.

"It'll heal if it works," he says.

"Look I don't know if we can do this," I say.

"Why not?"

"Well because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!" Stiles exclaims.

"You faint at the sight of blood."

"No but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm!"

"All right. Fine. How about this: Either you cut off my arm or I'll cut off her head."

"Okay, you know what? I'm so not buying your threats any--"

Derek grabs me by the neck and slams me into a wall. Even while he's weak, he's stronger than me. I claw at his hand. My airways close up as I choke. My feet dangle in the air. My chest begins to hurt.

"Oh my God. Alright bought. Sold. I'll do it. I'll do it."

Derek lets me go. I cough and sputter wildly. Stiles glares at Derek as he helps me up. Derek begins gagging and he emits a dark liquid from his mouth. I recognize the smell as blood.

"What? What is that? Holy God-- What the hell is that?" Stiles asks.

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

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

"Now, Stiles. You have to do it now."

Derek hands Stiles the saw and we both gag.

"Look honestly, I don't think I can," Stiles tries to reason.

"Just do it!"

"Oh my God. Okay, okay. Oh, my God. Alright, here we go."

Stiles brings the saw down to Derek's arm. I begin to freak out and pace around.

"Stiles!"

"Scott?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."

"Did you get it?" Derek asks eagerly.

Scott digs through his pocket and hands the bullet to Derek.

"What are you going to do with it?" I ask.

"I'm gonna- I'm gonna-" Derek falls to the floor unconscious and the bullet rolls out of his hand.

"No, no, no, no, no! No!"

Stiles and I crouch down beside Derek. I slap his face a bit. Nothing. He's out cold.

"Derek. Come on, wake up," Stiles says.

"Scott, what the hell are we going to do?" I ask.

"I don't know," Scott replies frantically.

"I think he's dying."

"I think he's dead."

"Just hold on!" Scott shouts. I shake Derek. "I got it! I got it."

"Please don't kill me," Stiles begs.