We drive until it's dark. I spend the time doing a combination of homework and staring at Derek. I think about everything I know about him - his whole family dying in a fire, him being a werewolf and being able to control it, him killing someone, him being shot and dying. I can't control the emotions that swell inside of me when I look at him, even though I try tirelessly to. I can't stop the waves of sadness, happiness, anger, and fear that rise. It seems impossible. Sometimes being psychic is so obnoxious.
"What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles asks through gritted teeth, holding his cell phone angrily. He huffs. "And by the way, he's starting to smell ... like death," he waits another beat, listening. "What about your boss?" he turns to Derek. "You're not going to believe where he's telling me to take you."
Stiles holds the glowing phone across the space to Derek's ear. The werewolf takes the phone.
"Did you find it?" he asks. "Look, if you don't find it, then I'm dead, alright?"
He listens to Scott talking for a moment.
"Then think about this. The Alpha called you out against your will." I look over at him again as he starts talking. "He's gonna do it again. Next time, you either kill with him or you get killed. So, if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find. The. Bullet."
Derek hangs up the phone and I stare at him more. He catches my eye in the mirror.
"Can I help you?" he asks, staring back at me.
"I think I'm good," I reply sourly, not liking being called out on my creepiness. I swallow heavily as my sarcasm starts up. "You can barely help yourself right now."
Derek makes a noise and looks out the window. I try not to read into it too much. Stiles starts driving.
"Where are we going?" I ask, trying to take my mind off of the werewolf in the front seat.
"The animal clinic," Stiles responds, turning a sharp right corner. When we arrive, Stiles opens the big loading doors and Derek collapses on a pile of dog food bags. The dogs inside go crazy, barking and whining. Just like the cats hissed and meowed at Scott. I think they can sense werewolves.
"Does Nordic Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?" Stiles turns around to look up from his phone and at Derek.
"It's a rare form of wolfsbane," Derek informs us. I notice he's looking at me more often than he's looking at Stiles. It makes me squirm uncomfortably. "He has to bring me the bullet."
"Why?" Stiles asks.
"'Cause I'm gonna die without it," Derek looks up at him. Stiles texts Scott to hurry up and we lead Derek inside the clinic.
"Okay, okay," Stiles says as we both struggle to hold Derek up. He finally gets a footing, pulling off his long-sleeved shirt so we can see the wound. He lays his arm on the examination table.
I blink, cutting my eyes away from him. I look at Stiles instead, waiting to see what to do.
"You know, that really doesn't look like anything Echinacea and a good night sleep couldn't take care of," Stiles says, looking at the huge, spreading wound. The red snakes its way around Derek's arm, fading into black.
"When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me," he spins a little, looking dizzy and disorientated. He stumbles over to the cabinet.
"'Positivity' just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Stiles retorts.
"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time, last resort," Derek shuffles through a drawer.
"Which is?" Stiles asks. Derek doesn't answer, he just keeps rifling through that drawer.
"What are you looking for?" I ask, my voice finally returning to me. "You know, I work here. I know where everything is."
Derek holds up a blade.
"One of you is going to cut off my arm," he states.
"Not it!" I jump back, leaving Stiles to his own devices. If either of us should be chopping off a werewolf's arm, it should be Stiles. I can't think of a good reason why, other than I don't want to be the one doing it. Stiles breathes heavily, looking nervous.
Derek sets the saw on the table, pushing it across to Stiles. He looks at it strangely. He turns it on and it buzzes.
"Oh my god. You know, Mer, you're the one who works here," Stiles holds the saw out to me. "You said it yourself, you know where everything is. How about you do this and I'll owe you?"
"Oh no," I take a step back from the saw. "I think you've got this one."
"One of you needs to do it!" Derek growls, working on the tourniquet for his arm.
"What if you bleed to death?" Stiles demands.
"It'll heal if it works," Derek replies around a mouthful of latex.
"Look," Stiles says. I can hear more dogs barking in the background. "I don't know if I can do this and Emerson sure as hell won't."
"Why not?" Derek insists.
"Well, because the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!" Stiles cries.
"You faint at the sight of blood?" Derek asks, surprised.
"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm!" Stiles shouts.
"Alright, fine," Derek breathes. "How about this? Either you cut off my arm or I'm gonna cut off your head."
"Okay, you know what? I'm so not buying your threats anymo- " Stiles starts. Derek lunges across the table and grabs the front of Stiles' shirt. I grab Derek's arm instinctively, digging my fingernails into his skin as I pull him back.
"Okay, alright. Bought, sold. Totally, I'll do it," Stiles says. My jaw drops, but before I can say anything, Derek lets go of Stiles and grabs onto my arm instead. It's not as violently as he grabbed Stiles. It's gentler and his hand finds its way up to my wrist and to my hand. He leans over the edge of the examination table and begins coughing.
"What? What are you doing?" Stiles asks, watching him. I stare at our fingers intertwined, mesmerized and perplexed at the same time. I can hear liquid splattering the tile floor and his fingers tighten around my knuckles, our skin turning white. I squeeze back, but he seems to realize what he's doing and lets go of my hand faster than I can respond. I look down, finding black blood spread all over the floor.
"Holy god, what the hell is that?" Stiles whines, looking at it. I stare down at my hand. I don't think Stiles even noticed what just happened.
"It's my body ... trying to heal itself," Derek rasps. I try to calm my breathing. I try to tell myself it's just the sight of a dying man wanting us to cut his arm off and coughing up blood that has me a little breathless. But a part of me knows it's not.
"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it," Stiles states.
"Now," Derek gasps. "You gotta do it now."
"Look, honestly, I don't think I can," Stiles shakes his head. He looks so worried for a moment that I consider offering, but I don't think I can either.
"Just do it!" Derek shouts, making me jump.
"Oh my god, okay, okay," Stiles says quickly, making the saw buzz. He places the still blade on Derek's skin and I have to look away. "All right! Here we go!"
YOU ARE READING
Transformed (Incomplete)
Fanfiction"Don't be afraid of change. You might lose something good, but you'll gain something better." Emerson McCall is a pretty average high school student. She has one friend she shares with her brother, Scott, and between the two of them, she has all she...
