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As Derek climbed the charred stairs, the wooden plaques creaked under his weight. Scott's eyes wandered around the dilapidated structure in disdain, questioning why Derek was still living here.
Scott coughed, earning Derek's attention as he stopped and turned back. "What?"
"You know, I have a life too." Scott said, rubbing his hands awkwardly.
"No, you don't." Derek shrugged his brows and turned back.
Hearing the disrespect, Scott scoffed and yelled back in anger,
"Yes, I do! I don't care what you say about him making me his pet or—"
"Part of his pack." Derek corrected.
"Whatever, I have homework to do." Scott disregarded entirely and began ranting. "I have to go to a parent-teacher conference tomorrow because I'm failing chemistry."
Derek rolled his eyes, a nervous smile curling up on his face. "Do you want to do homework, or do you want to not die?"
Scott sighed, pacing around, waving his hands in the air, Derek's warnings sounding more and more like empty words.
"You have less than a week until the full moon." Derek continued. "You don't kill with him, he kills you."
Scott grumbled. "Okay, seriously, who made up these stupid rules?"
"It's a rite of passage into his pack."
"You know what else is a rite of passage?" Scott wiggled his brows with the question and answered it. "Graduating from high school! And you don't have to kill anyone to do it!"
Derek sighed, clenching his fingers as his tolerance for Scott's whining dwindled.
"Why can't you just find him yourself? Why can't you just sniff him out when he's human?"
"Because his human scent could be totally different. It has to be you." Derek reasoned, holding back. "You have a connection with him, a link you can't or don't understand, but if I can teach you to control your abilities, you can find him."
Scott stood there silently, gazing at Derek displeased but adhering to his words.
"So, if I help you, can you stop him?" Scott asked.
"Not alone. We're stronger in numbers." Derek explained. "The pack makes the individual more powerful."
"How am I gonna help if I have no idea what I'm doing?"
"Because I'm gonna teach you." Derek stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Do you remember what happened the first night you were shot in the arm? Right after you were hit?"
"I-I changed back." Scott nodded.
"And when you were hit by his car, same thing, right?" Scott nodded again as Derek reached for his arm. "What's the common denominator?"
Scott stood passively and shrugged, unable to understand the answer. Derek gripped his arm and plunged his nails into it.
Scott groaned in pain. "Ahh, no!"
He jerked his arm back, bleeding. "What the hell are you doing?!"
"It'll heal." Derek replied nonchalantly. Scott grunted.
"It still hurts." Derek smiled and walked up the stairs. "And that's what keeps you human. Pain."
Scott looked down and saw the wound slowly closing. Derek glanced at the closing wound and shrugged.
"Maybe you'll survive."
Scott breathed heavily, glaring at Derek's retreating back.
---
[Stiles' POV]
The car was sunk in a deadly silence, both of us too wary to break the balance. It felt like a silent game of quietness as we sat uncomfortably in the moving vehicle, not even daring to breathe too loudly.
The only indication we had reached the beach was the gleaming lights from the boats on the far side of the bay.
The car came to a halt next to the sandy shoreline, and in the distance, I saw a group of people gathered around.
I stepped out of the vehicle, much to the Sheriff's displeasure, but he didn't voice it, so it wasn't my fault.
He followed behind me as I curiously walked along the shore, the sand pulling at his boots with every step, making him slower, while I casually strolled with ease.
As I got closer, I saw a pair of officers giving instructions to the people while another was investigating the body washed up on the sand. I immediately noticed someone familiar.
"Jacob?" I said a bit too loudly, earning everyone's attention.
"Stiles?" He called back and walked over to meet me halfway.
"What are you doing here?" I asked as we knocked our knuckles together before he gestured for me to follow him toward the corpse.
"My brothers and I were on the dirt bikes, just goofing around, and bam! This!" He said, pointing at the shrivelled body.
Its legs were nothing more than bones, its arms draped in skin, and its head had patches of missing hair. The face had somehow withstood the sea, probably because of the knife sticking out of its forehead.
"Oooo." I grimly said as I observed it.
"What are you doing here?" Jacob asked.
"I was with the sheriff on patrol." I replied.
"Chief!" An officer yelled, acknowledging the sheriff walking into the circle drawn by the department.
I stood outside the circle as they did their job. It took a while, but the crowd slowly dispersed, leaving only a bare minimum of curious spectators.
Jacob and his brothers kept me company as we watched the officers slowly get the corpse into an ambulance.
As soon as they did, I snuck into the circle and walked towards the sheriff, who saw my presence but didn't comment on it.
The investigating detective gave a brief report to the sheriff.
"The body has been in the tides for probably a day. There are no signs of struggle, but there are two stab wounds in her abdomen, and there's one interesting thing." The detective gestured for us to follow him, and we did, towards the body of Jessica in the ambulance.
He took out a pen and pointed at the end of her fingers.
"You see that?" He asked. My father nodded while I blurted out, "Her nails are missing."
Their heads darted my way, and I gave them a look before turning my attention back to the murder weapon.
My father turned back and, with his gloved hands, slowly pulled out the knife and dropped it into a transparent cover.
As soon as he did, my eyes widened as I saw the hilt of the knife had a carving on it—a protruding white face with a long stretched mouth.
"Ghostface." I muttered, earning their attention.
"What?" The sheriff asked.
"The hilt of the knife." I said, pointing at it. "That's Ghostface."
He took it in his hands and narrowed his gaze sharply at the carving.
"Brief me on what that is." The detective standing by the side asked, stepping forward.
"Ghostface is the serial killer from the movie Stab."
"Billy Loomis." The sheriff commented, staring at me, and I nodded.
He immediately threw the knife at the detective's hand and walked away from the scene while I followed behind.
He reached for his comms and yelled out an order. "Control, get a dispatch to Eichen House and get an attendance on a patient named Billy Loomis."
As he did, he turned around. "You, get back home."
I nodded as he said it. I stood on the beach as the waves crashed and watched as he left in the car.
Tonight was some night.