justlurkinghere | Streets of Beacon Hills, Monday Afternoon thru Evening

Derek had peeled his leather jacket off with some difficulty as only one arm was functioning properly. He was almost certain that this Stiles wouldn't dare try to take the jacket so he let it fall wherever it did. He was most certainly not relaxing slightly because he was in more familiar surroundings with a more familiar person. Not at all. Except for how he was.

Goddamn Fandom had ruined his instincts.

"Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats, okay?" Stiles snapped as he put his cell phone down, shaking him out of whatever moment he had not been having. "We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

Stiles shot him a look out of the corner of his eye like that should have been painfully obvious. "Your house."

Wait, did they think he actually lived in the burned ruin of his childhood home? That was sadder than his actual conditions, thank you very much. "What? No, you can't take me there."

That got an incredulous laugh out of the kid. "I can't take you to your own house?"

"Not when I can't protect myself." Duh.

At that, the car slowed and they pulled over to the side of the road. Because apparently Stiles was not yet done poking at the caged animal. "All right. What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet?" Stiles demanded, hands waving about like he was conducting an insane orchestra. "Hmm?"

When no answer came, he continued on, "Are you dying?"

Yes. But if Scott managed to find that bullet, he wouldn't be. "Not yet," Derek settled on,breathing heavy for a moment to get through the pain as he reached for the crook of his injured arm "I have a last resort."

Cutting off your arm did not count as a plan, Derek.

"What do you mean?" Stiles demanded. "What last resort?"

And then was promptly thrown off that train of thought as Derek pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to get a better look at how quickly the wolfsbane was spreading. It did not look or smell particularly good. More like rotting meat. Yeah. Pleasant. "Oh, my God. What is that? Oh, is that contagious?" Stiles asked, voice going funny as he tried not to breathe through his nose. "You know what, you should probably just get out."

That was so not happening. You started this whole mess, Stiles. Well, not you. But a Stiles did. "Start the car," Derek said, turning to stare him down. "Now."

And there was that same idiotic bravado he'd shown in the back of the cop car. And marching up to Derek at that welcome picnic, no doubt. "I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay? In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead."

He probably could. This one couldn't care less if he ended up dead somewhere. "Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out," Derek replied instead, not looking away from the kid. "With my teeth."

He was more than a little satisfied when it worked and the rumble of the engine drowned out the other noises around them.

---

By the time Scott finally answered any of Stiles' phone calls, the sun had set and Derek's ability to focus was starting to become seriously hampered. And there may or may not have been an incident of falling over onto Stiles in an attempt to feel comfortable.

That stupid kid had ruined his brain.

"What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles demanded to the phone, not sparing Derek another look. "He tried to cuddle me like a freakin' teddy bear, Scott. I'm becoming concerned for my wellbeing here."

"I told you I fell," Derek snapped, but he didn't have the energy to give it enough force.

"Take him somewhere, anywhere." Thanks for that, Scott.

"Yeah, onto my lap, you freak," Stiles shot back before returning to the important things in his conversation with Scott. "And, by the way, he's starting to smell."

Rude, Stiles. Derek would throttle you once he managed to use both arms again.

"Like–like what?"

"Like death," Stiles hissed.

"Okay, take him to the animal clinic." Oh, that was hilarious, Scott.

"What about your boss?"

"He's gone by now. There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster."

Stiles sighed, offering the phone over to Derek now that he'd noticed he was more alert and less apt to fall on people. "You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you."

Yes he would. Werewolf hearing. But that wasn't important now. Derek took the phone with his good hand, not even bothering with annoyance about the clinic. "Did you find it?"

"How am I supposed to find one bullet? They have a million. This house is like– the frickin' Walmart of guns."

Hunters. Duh. "Look, if you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right?"

"I'm starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing." Ugh, Scott you're the worst.

Derek managed to not sigh at that, instead appealing to the more practical side of things. Since his being dead was less of a hardship on either of the kids, it would seem. "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."

[[NFB, NFI! Taken from Magic Bullet. Oh god, we are spamming you with TW.]]