After school, Stiles and I head to his car, our footsteps echoing in the nearly deserted parking lot. The sky above has turned a muted gray, suggesting that a storm might be on the horizon. As we approach the vehicle, Stiles suddenly halts, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh my GOD, what the hell?" he shouts, his voice shattering the afternoon silence. There, slumped against the side of Stiles' car, is Derek.
Derek looks pale, almost ghostly, as if he's teetering on the edge of consciousness. He sways unsteadily, barely able to hold himself up, a flicker of desperation evident on his face. "I need your help," Derek manages to say, his voice low and strained. "They shot me with wolfsbane." Stiles and I exchange concerned glances, but I feel a surge of determination. "Who shot you?" Stiles asks, his brow furrowing deeply. "The hunters," Derek responds, and that one word sends a jolt of urgency through me. This isn't just any bullet—it's laced with the lethal herb known for incapacitating werewolves.
"We have to get the bullet to cure me. You have to go to Allison's house," he urges, his eyes filled with a mix of desperation and hope. "Let's go," I say with a confidence that surprises even me. I can't let fear take hold; Derek is counting on us. Stiles jumps into the driver's seat, and I slide into the back, ready for whatever comes next as he speeds off, weaving through the streets with a sense of urgency.
When I arrive at Allison's house, the atmosphere feels thick with tension, but I'm not backing down. I approach the front door and knock firmly. The door swings open, revealing Allison's mother, Jessica. "Hey, you're Scott," she observes, her eyes narrowing. "Come in," she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. Once inside, I pick up on a familiar scent: different variants of wolfsbane wafting through the air. It's overpowering, but I stay focused, ready to handle whatever's thrown at us. The dining room is set for dinner, a spread of food laid out, but something feels off. My instincts scream that the food is tainted—there's wolfsbane hidden in it.
Before I can fully process my thoughts, Cris, Allison's dad, saunters in and announces, "It's time to dig in." There's a sly grin on his face, and I feel a twinge of annoyance. He thinks he can manipulate me, but he has no idea who he's dealing with. As we sit down, I decide to probe a little. I shovel a forkful of the wolfsbane-laced food into my mouth, feigning delight.
"Wow, this is delicious! It tastes like what my mom makes. Where did you buy this?" I say, forcing a wide smile while maintaining my composure. Victoria, Cris's wife, visibly pleased by my compliment, beams at me. "I made this. Thanks for the compliment! Some people in this family don't appreciate my cooking," she replies, glancing pointedly at her husband. Cris bristles at her remark, and I can't help but feel a flicker of sympathy for Victoria, caught in her husband's shadow. Dinner stretches on, but I remain focused. I excuse myself, claiming I need to use the bathroom.
Once I'm alone, I head toward Kate's room, my heart steady, my mind clear. I know exactly what I need to do. Creeping into the darkened room, I quickly locate the bag where Kate keeps her weapons. I find the bullet among the gear, and just as I'm about to slip out, I hear footsteps approaching.
My gut tightens as Allison comes down the hallway. Just then, Kate appears at her door, a frown already etched on her face. "What did you take from my bag, brat?" she yells, her voice sharp and commanding. I don't hesitate. "It was me," Allison cuts in quickly, stepping forward and looking fierce. "I was just taking protection," she defends, her tone supportive yet defiant, ready to stand up against Kate's wrath. Cris storms down the stairs, clearly agitated. "It's getting late. You should go home,"
He snaps at me, his eyes blazing with irritation. I feel a flash of resentment at his tone, but I remind myself that I'm in control of this situation. Once outside, I race back to Stiles' car. We don't have time to waste. Stiles jumps into action behind the wheel, and we drive straight to Deaton's clinic. My hands grip the bullet tightly; I can feel the energy in the air as we approach Derek.
"Here, I found it," I say, handing the bullet over with urgency. Derek looks at the bullet as if it's a lifeline. "I owe you," he replies, a hint of gratitude mingling with the desperate hope that the cure will work. As he expertly inspects the bullet and prepares to pour it onto his wound, I stand firm, willing him to heal. I watch as he groans in pain but gradually begins to mend. Relief washes over me, but I know this is just the beginning.
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The end. Please send power stones to help the yourry's growth, and thank you for your support. I did not think anyone would read this. Wish recommendations for the 5th wish: 1. Scott Pack lives longer, and 2. Essence Archmages. We need one more so that you guys can vote.