justlurkinghere | Beacon Hills High School, Monday Morning thru Afternoon

Sending Jack back to the safety of Fandom might have been a good choice for preventing another person in his life from dying, but it was playing hell on his own ability to survive. Because he was quite possibly too dumb to function on his own.

Which was why he was at the high school.

Seriously, Derek? Seriously?

Derek ignored the rush of kids around him, eyes firmly on the ground as he forced one foot in front of the other. The wolfsbane in his system was already wreaking havoc on his senses and motor functions in that 'urge to curl up in a corner and die' sort of way.

He only looked up once he caught a familiar scent. Jackson. Off course he had to run into that obnoxious kid again. At least he could be of use right now. "Where's Scott McCall?" he asked, only then really noticing that the hallway had cleared out for the next period of class. Which left him all alone with Jackson.

"Why should I tell you?"

He was going to just murder him slowly. Sloooowly. "Because I asked you politely, and I only do that once."

Jackson just made an amused noise, bravado just the same as the one in Fandom. "Okay, tough guy. You know, how about I help you find him if you tell me what you're selling him? What is it? Is it, uh, Dianabol? Hmm? HGH?"

Wow. Just. Wow. Derek stared at him for a moment before having to put into words what completely wrong conclusion this kid had come to. "Steroids."

Of course that was what he wanted to know. Derek stepped away, trying to get around him to find Scott on his own. He came to a stop when Jackson followed, keeping in front of him.

"No, girl scout cookies," he shot back sarcastically. "What the hell do you think I'm talking about?" Lycanthropy? "Oh, and, uh, by the way? Whatever it is you're out selling, I'd probably stop sampling the merchandise. You look wrecked."

He felt it too. The sluggish trail of tainted blood from the wound was making it's way down his fingers now. He really did not have time to deal with another idiotic teenager. "I'll find him myself," Derek said tiredly, walking past before Jackson could get in his way again.

"No, we're not done here–" Jack grabbed his shoulder, digging his fingers in as though he could keep Derek from getting away.

With that, Derek's already frayed nerves finally snapped and he responded by spinning on his heel to grab the moron by the back of the neck and slam him into the locker. It took a moment for him to realize that his fingertips were warm and damp--he jerked his hand back, staring at the claws there. He never lost control like this. Not with humans.

So, he did the smart thing and ran. Because his life officially sucked.

---

After hiding in the school most of the day--god, he'd really forgotten how much he hated those bells--Derek was almost ready to give in and call Jack back for help. Almost.

And then there was another more familiar smell that was slightly less annoying than Jackson. One that was not Scott, but it would do in a pinch. He stumbled out into the parking lot, holding up a hand to get that familiar blue jeep to come to a screeching halt.

"Oh, my God." Hello again, Stiles. Nice to see you outside of a cop car.

Cars behind Stiles were honking at the sudden stop, eager to get the hell away from the school, no doubt.

He could hear Scott faintly on the end of the lot, panicking. "Oh, no no–no–no, not here."

And then Stiles' two cents, "You've gotta be kidding me. This guy's everywhere–"

Which would be right about when he fell over. Look, you try handling a wolfsbane bullet. It wasn't the most fun time.

Scott rushed over, hitting the jeep door on his way to where Derek was attempting to pull himself up into a sitting position. Hey, he even succeeded at it! "What the hell?" Scott hissed. "What are you doing here?"

Derek took a breath, trying to focus on something other than that whole slowly dying in agonizing pain thing. "I was shot."

"He's not looking so good, dude," Stiles chimed in helpfully.

Scott apparently found that about as helpful as Derek did as he flailed in Derek's general direction rather than acknowledge it. "Why aren't you healing?"

Derek gritted his teeth to keep talking through the pain. "I can't. It was–it was a different kind of bullet."

"A silver bullet?" Stiles, he took back all the vaguely nice things he thought about your intellect.

"No, you idiot."

"Wait, wait," Scott said, realization dawning on him. "That's what she meant when she said you had 48 hours."

"Kate," Derek hissed, feeling his eyes change without his permission.

"What are you doing?" Scott demanded, voice panicked. "Stop that!"

Right, if it was that easy. He breathed heavily, teeth clenched tight to ride out another wave of pain. "I'm trying to tell you, I can't."

"Derek, get up," Scott said, finally yanking him up onto his feet. Not that Derek was too steady on them, but he had Scott to lean against at least. Scott looked over at Stiles, nodding toward the passenger side to get him to open the door for him. "Help me to put him in your car."

Once he was safely there, Derek could breath just a little easier. "I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used."

Scott shot him an annoyed and confused look. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

Oh, maybe your girlfriend could help, McCall. "She's an Argent. She's with them," he replied, looking over at where Allison had gotten out of her car to see what the holdup was.

"Why should I help you?" Scott demanded.

Yeah, why should he? "Because you need me," Derek replied a little more honestly than he would have liked.

It seemed to work at least. "Fine. I'll try." And possibly fail. Which would... suck a lot for Derek. Scott looked past him at where Stiles had buckled into the driver's seat. "Hey get him out of here."

"I hate you for this so much," Stiles informed him, driving them away as soon as Scott was clear of the car.

[[NFB, NFI! Taken from Magic Bullet]]

Beacon Hills High School, Monday Morning thru Afternoon

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