"Oh, is that contagious?" Stiles shouted as his face scrunched in disgust as he shook his head, too grossed out by Derek's bloody wound. "You know what, you should probably just get out."
"Start the car," Derek ordered with a firm voice. "NOW."
"I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay?" Stiles glared at the dark-haired man. "In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the fucking road and leave you for dead."
"Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out...with my teeth."
"Derek!" Gracie tried to intervene as her brother and Stiles glared at each other. "Stiles..." She said softly, leaning forward as she rested her hand on his shoulder. He looked back at her, eyes widening at the desperate look in her brown hazel eyes. "Can you please help us? Please? He's all I have left."
Shaking his head as his hand grazed over his keys, Stiles closed his eyes and gave in. Letting out a sigh, he started up the Jeep again and got back onto the road.
Gracie grinned and squeezed his shoulders appreciatively. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
"What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles asked, speaking into his phone as he drove along the dark road when the sun had already set.
"Take him somewhere, anywhere," the Hale girl heard Scott say over the phone, making the boy with a buzz cut roll his eyes.
"And, by the way, he's starting to smell," Stiles complained, saying it right in front of Derek. Gracie nodded as the older beta glared at the teen boy. The brunette sat back, covering her nose with her sweater to smother the rotting smell coming from Derek.
"Like...like what?" Scott asked.
"Like death," Stiles said bluntly, ignoring the older werewolf's glare he was sending his way.
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Scott spoke, "Okay, take him to the animal clinic."
"What about your boss?"
"He's gone by now," Scott said, causing Stiles to glance at his watch. Even though it hadn't felt like it, they had been driving around for three hours now. "There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster."
"What's he saying?" Gracie pressed, catching Stiles' attention.
He shook his head, handing Derek the phone. "You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you."
Gracie raised her eyebrows while Derek ignored him, holding the phone to his face as he put Scott on speakerphone. "Did you find it?"
"How am I supposed to find one bullet?" Gracie could Scott more clearly now. "They have a million. This house is like -- the fricken Walmart of guns."
"Look, if you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right?" Derek reminded him.
"I'm starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Scott mumbled through the phone.
"Then think about this. The Alpha called you out against your will. 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 hung up the call and passed the phone back to Stiles.
"All right," Stiles said, starting up the Jeep and pulling out onto the road once again. "To the animal clinic."
The drive to the clinic took another fifteen minutes and Derek was looking even worse by they time they pulled up to the modest building. Stiles held onto Derek while his sister searched for the spare key behind the dumpster and when she unlocked the door, the three of them stumbled in.
"Does Northern blue monkshood mean anything to you?" Stiles asked when Scott texted him back after he and Gracie helped the werewolf sit down inside.
"It's a rare form of wolfsbane," Derek told him. "He has to bring me the bullet."
"Why?"
"'Cause I'm gonna die without it."
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Stiles
He needs that bullet!
Stiles typed into his phone as he responded to Scott, requesting the presence of the bullet as he hit send.
"Okay. You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of," Stiles said as he and Gracie took him to the exam room. Under the florescent lights, his wound looked much, much worse. The wound in his biceps had black lines sprouting from it; it look like his veins were discolored.
"When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me," he said between breaths, looking at the wound carefully. He turned to his sister. "Grace, get me a tourniquet."
She nodded and went to the counter, opening random drawers and rummaging through them.
"'Positivity' just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Stiles snarked.
"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time -- last resort," Derek said. After Gracie handed a rubber tie, he tied it around his arm that made the veins in his arm bulge.
"Which is?" Stiles asked.
"You're gonna cut off my arm."
"Oh, my God," Stiles panicked, almost looking like he was about to faint and Gracie didn't blame him. "What if you bleed to death?"
"Are you insane?" The Hale girl exclaimed, just as panicked at the Stilinski boy.
"It'll heal if it works," Derek said with shrug, not too bothered by it.
"Ugh," Stiles shuddered as they stood by the stainless steel exam table. "Look...I don't know if I can do this."
"Why not?"
While Gracie agreed it wasn't the greatest idea, she only cared about saving him. She knew that Derek would rather have one arm than be dead -- and she felt the same way.
"Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!" Stiles exclaimed, not understanding how the decision was so obvious.
"You faint at the sight of blood?"
"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!"
Derek shook his head, exhausted. "All right, fine. 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 any--" Stiles started angrily. He was cut off when Derek grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, bearing his teeth at the teen boy, causing Stiles to gulp nervously. "Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold."
"Derek!" Gracie shook her head, pulling his hand away. "I'll do it."
Just then, Derek leaned over the table.
"What? What are you doing? Holy God!" Stiles asked nervously, stepping away from the pale werewolf. Derek retched and out came a black liquid, splattering all over the cement floor. "What the hell is that?"
Gracie moved around him as she helped her brother stand up straight. "It's his body, trying to heal itself."
"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it," Stiles quipped. Her head bounced up as she glared at him. Really?
"Now. You gotta do it now," Derek pressed as he handed his sister the bone saw.
"Stiles, you have to hold him down," Gracie ordered.
Stiles looked like he was about to be sick. "Look, honestly, I don't think I can--"
"--Just do it!" Derek shouted.
"Oh, my God. Okay, okay. Oh, my God," Stiles muttered, going up to Derek and holding the top half of his body down.
"All right, here we go!" Gracie said after taking a few breaths as she held the saw right in front of where the tourniquet was tied. She shook her head as her finger ghosted over the "on" button. "I have not watched enough Grey's Anatomy for this..."
"Stiles!" A voice echoed through the clinic right when she got ready to press "on" button.
"Scott?" Stiles stayed still when he recognized the voice. Scott entered the room and his eyes went straight to the Hale girl still holding the saw over her brother's arm.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Gracie pulled the saw away from Derek and dropped it on the table as Stiles laughed breathlessly.
"Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares," Stiles said happily, and Gracie nodded in agreement.
"Did you get it?" Derek asked Scott. The teen wolf nodded and pulled the bullet out of his pocket, handing it to Derek, who observed it carefully.
"What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles asked wearily.
Derek's eyes started glazing over. "I'm gonna-I'm gonna--"
He dropped to the ground in a dead faint.
"Derek!" Gracie cried out, running over to his unconscious form. She shook him roughly, trying to wake him up. "Derek! No, no, no!"
Stiles and Scott rushed into action. Stiles knelt down on the other side of Derek and tried to help Gracie while Scott went to the grate in the floor where the bullet fell.
"Derek, come on, wake up!" Stiles patted the older werewolf's face.
"Derek, please!" Gracie pleaded shakily, tears dripping from her eyes.
Stiles looked over at Scott. "Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?"
"I don't know!" Scott called back, trying desperately to reach the bullet. "I can't reach it!"
"He's not waking up!" Stiles yelled unhelpfully. "I think he's dying. I think he's dead!"
"No!" Gracie cried at him while Scott exclaimed, "Just hold on!"
Stiles patted Derek's face again and looked up when Scott declared that he got the bullet out of the grate.
"Please don't kill me for this," Stiles mumbled to Derek as he decked Derek in the face and shouted at the pain that flared up immediately.
Derek woke up with a start and Gracie reached for him, helping him to his feet with help from Stiles and Scott.
"Give me..." Derek grabbed for the bullet and bit off the top with his teeth, tapping the bullet on the table. Purple dust fell out of the golden casing and Derek pulled out a lighter from his pants pocket and lit it up.
Sparks erupted from the wolfsbane, shocking Stiles and Scott, but Derek and Gracie paid it no attention. Derek scooped up the ashes and hesitated before smushing the wolfsbane into the bullet wound on his arm.
He fell to the floor once again, screaming from the pain jolting through his body. His back arched and Gracie winced in horror as he groaned loudly. But then the black veins on Derek's left arm started disappearing until the wound itself healed up, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin.
"That. Was. Awesome!" Stiles shouted, pumping his fist in amazement. "Yes!"
Gracie had to disagree with the Stilinski boy. Seeing her brother yell in agony as he shoved the wolfsbane in his arm was not awesome. Thankfully he was healed.