※ Chapter Rewritten 3/13/20 ※

Heavily canon because of plot necessities...

Season One

"There should be a place where only the things you want to happen, happen..."

...Beacon Hills is not that place.

Where the Wild Things Are...

Chapter 5:

Magic Bullet

Reagan could go for a 'girls day' right about now. Running her index finger over her thumb, she grimaced at the rough texture of her chewed nail. Behind her, Scott himself gave a tired sigh.

"You'll be fine." She murmured back. Whether she was talking about his current werewolf situation or the test they were waiting to be handed back, he wasn't sure. He could only manage to spare a hint of a smile in return.

Slowly, it slipped from his face as his mind once more spiralled down the whirlwind of thoughts that seemed to envelop him.

Reagan had been right. Derek hadn't killed the bus driver. In fact, he hadn't even been the one to bite him. Their violent confrontation two nights previously still weighed heavily on Scott's mind for one simple reason: He'd lost. Badly.

It was strange to think about since he'd never been in a fight as a normal kid, let alone as one with teeth and claws. He could distinctly remember throwing Derek through a wall, the older werewolf dusting himself off soon after and retaliating with brutal blows of his own. Four claws had swiped across his chest, tearing from shoulder to shoulder so deeply he felt as if his lung had been ripped from his body. And if it wasn't for his supernatural healing, Scott was certain he'd be dead.

If it was Stiles, or Reagan, or Allison… they'd already be dead.

Derek had seemed to think it was enough to make a point since he stopped the fight after the vicious blow.

And apparently there was something stronger, bigger, and meaner hiding out there. And it wanted him.

Derek was right, he had no chance without him…

Reagan looked back at her brother when his silence continued. "You okay?" She prompted. When she got no response she threw her pink eraser at him, hitting his forehead with great aim. He jumped in his seat. "Some super senses you got there kid."

He only mumbled an apology, missing the humor to her words. Before she could dig deeper at his troubles, she was side tracked by a text she was hoping to avoid.

Come with me to Danny's party tonight. He won't stop begging me.

Reagan found herself worrying her nail in between her teeth, a bad habit that had developed over the past month or so. She sent a quick excuse about laundry only to have it buzz once more.

LAME. Pretty please? I can loan you an outfit if you need it. Please? You never come out with me anymore. Came the burst of texts.

Reagan could only apologize for being surprisingly busy for someone with no social life the past couple weeks. It wasn't a lie.

I miss my best friend.

Reagan suddenly felt very guilty at the realization she'd not actually laid eyes on her friend in a while. She was about to propose a girl's night when the last text was followed up by something she didn't expect.

So does Danny.

It felt like a sucker punch to the gut. And I miss my boyfriend. Reagan thought apathetically.

It was strange, the feeling of being pulled back to a group you knew you no longer belonged in. At least, not in the way you used to. It was almost as if the teenagers themselves weren't used to the awkward landscape they were forced to navigate amongst their closest friends. The summer's dramatic revelation couldn't be undone, but maybe, if they all pretended hard enough, they could pretend it had a different ending. One where everything could be exactly as it was, without the love sick glances of a no-longer happy couple.

She could only give a noncommittal response. But Clara refused to take her maybe's - and with one final surge of begging text messages - she felt herself cave.

Change was hard.

But inevitable.

She might as well take the first step today.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, swallowing back a surge of cowardliness that threatened to overwhelm her. "I'll be there."

Reagan turned her phone over; instantly regretting the reply as soon as it had sent. Her eyes scanned the relaxed classroom. The dreaded first test of the school year now over, the students chatted amongst themselves, all feeling confident in what was meant to be the easiest of tests to come.

Unable to wait another seven minutes for class to be over, the Stilinski boy sharply turned in his seat to the siblings behind him. "Okay, but if Derek isn't the Alpha, if he's not the one who bit you, then who did?" Came the impatient question.

"Stiles." Reagan berated. Her blue eyes scanned the rest of the students around them. The History classroom had a small hum of usual hushed chit chat but none as outrageous or loud as that of Stilinski's interrogation.

"I don't know." was murmured back for the umpteenth time.

"So the alpha killed the bus driver? Ow!"

Regan sent a swift kick to his leg as her brother repeated his uncertainty behind her. Stiles rubbed his leg, pulling an overeager smile as the teacher passed by. He ceased his cross-examination momentarily, weighing the pros and cons before failing in his patience.

"Does Allison's dad know about the…?"

"I don't know!" The mumbles of the class silenced, all eyes turning to the trio. "Do we have a problem Mr. McCall?" Mr. Wilcox surprised them from behind.

"So many." Scott whined to himself, slouching in his seat. Mr. Wilcox, pointedly cleared his throat, as he handed back their tests signaling the return to relative order for the class.

Unlike the A's that stained Reagan and Stiles' papers, a thick D- stared back at him. A note to see Wilcox after class lay below it.

"Dude, you need to study more." Stiles' humor was poorly timed. "That was a joke." He cowered under Regan's scolding glare.

Scott let his head fall into his hands, utterly defeated by the week.

"Scott, it's one test. You're going to make it up." His sister tried to comfort him. Truth was, Wilcox was one of those no nonsense graders. He made his tests count more than ten times his homework. Scott would have to get perfect scores on the next ten assignments just to pull his grade above the D it probably was. "Do you want help studying?"

"No." He sighed. "I'm studying with Allison after school today."

"That's my boy!"

"We're just studying." Scott tried not to smile.

"Uh, no you're not."

"I'm not?"

Stiles scoffed at the selfishness of his best friend. "Not if I'm forced to live vicariously through you!"

Reagan gave a dramatic sigh, catching the boy's attention as she finished backing up her bag. "You wouldn't have to if you just got over Lydia already...even Danny said you were cute..."

"He did?!" He nearly bounced out of his seat

"No." Was her point blank response. "-but the fact you got that excited about it should tell you something about yourself." Her stare was level as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

Scott covered his mouth to stop the laugh that nearly escaped as Stiles stared unamused at his smug sister. Reagan could only give a teasing wink as the bell rang above them.

Flustered, Stiles quickly changed the subject as he crammed everything into his backpack."If you go to her house today and squander that colossal opportunity, I-I swear I'll have you de-balled!"

"Okay! Just...stop with the questions man."

"Done!" He readily agreed as they left the classroom. "No more questions...No more talk about the alpha or Derek. Especially Derek, who still scares me."

After school didn't bring the relief it usually did. The trepidation after her text had only grown in the passing hours and Reagan found herself quickly trying to think of valid ways to chicken out.

Like how their attic hadn't been cleaned in years…

"Reagan, hey Rea - Rea!" Stiles pushed through a few freshmen as he struggled to catch up with her. Reagan stopped walking only to be nearly collided into at the end of the stairs. "So what are our plans tonight?" He grinned despite the huff to his breathing.

Her right brow raised in suspicion. "Not much?"

"Oh, uh, no -like, I-don't-know, movies, or like, parties you wanna check out?" He blinked his brown eyes quickly.

"Nope."

Stiles stared at her, a battle of wills ensuing as they waited for the other to break. "I heard Danny was having another party."

"Yeah, no, Jackson's having a party but it's being held at Danny's place because - well ya know- " Danny's parents were notorious around the school for being very absent from their son's life. Quite literally as they flew back to Hawaii quite regularly to check on their businesses. "Probably why you weren't invited."

"But you were..." he hinted once more.

"Yeah, I was." Reagan turned around, continuing to head to the Jeep before them. His previous offer of a ride home seemed to have a hidden meaning now.

Stiles let out a groan of frustration before picking up his pace to catch her. "Reagan, please." He said seriously as they got in his car. "Please, please, you don't understand. You're one of the beautiful people…" Reagan let out a cooing sound in appreciation. "Bring me into the herd."

Reagan could only sigh as they pulled out, feeling the tense atmosphere as Stiles quite literally held his breath in anticipation. She supposed she could endure an hour of uncomfortable chit chat for him. She's drop by. She'd say hello. She's let Stiles get his footing and then she'd disappear with an urgent text from Scott. Besides, she was almost certain he'd lose interest once he saw just how much PDA his forever-crush and her boyfriend shared.

Her blue eyes looked almost pained as she stared at his red-turning face. "Fine."

"YES!"

His dancing skills were gonna need a lot of work, judging by the jerky movements he did in his celebration. But that was a problem for a different time.

"Just remember Jackson will be ever visual, so let's keep the drooling to a minimum please." Her eyes started roaming the rest of the parking lot, a familiar all black figure catching her gaze.

"Pfft. I'm not scared of Jackson," he weakly lied.

"Derek?"

"Well yeah Derek, but-"

"No, DEREK!"

Stiles hit the breaks only a second before the werewolf stepped in their path. The would be victim held his arm out in a "halt" motion, wobbling and swaying on his feet.

"-the hell is he doing?" Reagan knew immediately something was off about him. It was a lovely overcast fall day. And yet, there was a sheen of sweat that seemed to shimmer over his sickly pale skin. A sway in his stance. Reagan couldn't help but lean forward, betting any second his knees were about to buckle. "He looked like he's gonna-" thump "-faint". As soon as Derek keeled over Reagan was undoing her buckle and out of the car.

Impatient honking began behind them, fueling the teenagers' confusion and panic. "You gotta be kidding me! This guy's like everywhere." Stiles looked around the car, not knowing what to do and feeling as if something else awful was about to jump out at him. He looked down to the pair on the ground, waiting for a cue from Reagan.

"Are you drunk?!" She sarcastically asked. She crouched down next to him, tugging on his jacket to help him sit up. It would be only a minute until people got out of their cars, a crowd already forming to gawk. She waved Stiles out of the car to help move him.

Her brother must have heard the less than subtle commotion, and appeared quickly by her side. "What the hell? What are you doing here?!" It was a shared sentiment by all of them.

"I was shot." Derek seemed to have a hard time catching his breath. Not exactly panting, his deep inhales of breath reminded Reagan of Scott's asthma attacks.

"He's not looking so good, dude." Stiles rubbed the back of his head, gulping when he saw an angry Jackson get out of his car. "Guy we gotta go!"

Reagan shot him a glare. "You're a freakin' werewolf! Why aren't you healing?" The sentence felt foreign on her tongue.

"I can't." He shook his head, wishing it was that simple. "It was a different kind of bullet."

"A silver bullet?"

"No, you idiot!" He still managed to snap.

"Wait, that's what she meant when she said you had 48 hours." All three of them look to Scott, suddenly interested for different reasons.

"What? Who said 48 hours?"

"The one who shot you."

Derek flinched in renewed pain. When he opened his eyes, irises an icy cyan color stared back at Reagan's natural blue. A soft whoa escaped her. They flickered in and out of his human color.

"Hey, what are you doing? Stop that." Reagan tapped his forehead.

Derek snarled at her. He wasn't a broken TV. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I can't!"

"Derek, get up!" Scott ordered, more and more students were coming towards them to form a circle, Allison Argent now being one of them...

But Reagan's panic lied elsewhere. Two security guards now pushed through the scattered crowd. "Help me put him in the Jeep." She made a snap decision.

"My Jeep? Oh no, he's not - " He stopped at the look she sent him, Derek's own icy stare weak in comparison. He relented, and swallowing his fear, held open the door as Scott and Reagan placed him in his passenger seat.

"I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used." The wounded werewolf sunk weakly into the seat.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"She's an Argent. She's with them." His near sneer at the name made Reagan pause in her fumbling into the back of the jeep.

"Why should I help you?"

"Because you need me." It was a blunt reply. One none of them could argue with.

Growing impatient, Stiles asked Reagan to text Scott for an update on his 'little mission." He'd been driving Derek around through the edge of town for the past half hour and his Jeep was starting to reek of blood. His previous excitement about the date gone, he now wanted nothing more then for Scott to cut it short and do what he had to to get the werewolf out of his car.

Derek's head began to lull in the passenger seat. His eyes falling close as he began to lose himself to the constant pain.

"Hey, hey, hey" Reagan reached around him to feel his forehead. The werewolf instinctively recoiled from the cool touch. Firmer this time, she pressed on, not letting him escape as she felt just how dangerously warm he was. "Christ, he has to be well over a 101".

Derek's shoulders lost their tension, silently embracing the relief for the moments he had it. It was short lived as a new wave of pain overtook him. He gritted his teeth, nearly snarling as the small relief was taken away.

"Uhhh, whatcha doin', Rea?" Stiles watched as she started ransacking through their backpacks with gusto.

Face pinched in thought, she seemed to be annoyed the longer her search took. "Take off your jacket." She pulled Stiles' water bottle from his lacrosse bag.

"I'm not wearing one."

"Not you." His passengers echoed.

Stiles turned back, biting his lip in an attempt not to sass back as he was ganged up on in his own car. He slumped in his seat, sparing the werewolf next to him a quick glance before checking his phone. Please let this nightmare end.

Derek looked less than pleased by the causal order. He turned his head as much as his sore body would allow, brows furrowing in part confusion and annoyance. He could only glower as she stretched herself between their seats, opening and closing the near empty glove compartment and then the middle console.

"Like now." She motioned for him to hurry up as she began to unbutton her own thin over-shirt.

Both males seemed perplexed. "Uh… her mom's a... nurse?" Stiles tried to give her credibility despite his own uncertainty at what she was doing.

Regan found herself with no other option as they had found themselves in the cleanest teen boy owned car in the state. The one boy that seemed to keep his Jeep clutter-free, he hadn't even a single spare napkin or two that was so commonly stashed away.

Despite the fact he already felt freezing, Derek did as he was told. Moving sluggishly, he cast her one more annoyed look as she felt her hands grab his shoulder, helping him out of it like a feeble child.

She roughly popped the top of Stiles water bottle, and despite his loud protests, quickly drenched as much of the folded cotton as she could.

"Pretty sure werewolves are susceptible to brain damage, but hey, maybe I'm wrong!," was the explanation they were given. Derek closed his eyes and hissed in shock as the cold wet cloth covered the upper part of his head. After a slight adjustment period his face relaxed as she held the cold press to his forehead. It was yet another thing to distract from the pain, if only for a moment. It could buy them time all the same...

"His body's fighting an infection already, I think he needs a hospital." Reagan mumbled to Stiles.

"No!" They both yelled at her.

"Hospitals - reports - bullets - dad - grounded." were the only words that stood out in their separate refusals.

"Scott'll text back any minute saying he's on his way with the cure and we'll fix him, kick him out, and still have time to make it to Danny's party tonight!"

Reagan could only stare apathetically at the boy. The subtle plea so grossly out of place in the current moment of crisis. "We really talk about your priorities." She calmly chided.

A familiar buzz from her phone made Stiles hit the steering wheel with new jubilation. "Woohoo, Scotty boy!"

His glee would die quickly. "Need more time." She read aloud.

It was time they didn't much have. Derek clenched his jaw tight, fighting back the sound of agony that threatened to escape as he raised his right arm. It laid almost limp, heavy and rotting, as it continued to steadily drip dark blood.

"Come on!" Stiles cried, annoyed by the sight of more blood dripping into Derek's lap. "Try not to bleed out on my seats, okay? We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"Your house."

"What? No, you can't take me there."

"I can't take you to your own house?" Stiles scoffs in disbelief.

"Not when I can't protect myself!"

Tired of the riddles and vague orders, Stiles sharply turned the car onto the side of the road. Turning the engine off, he removed the keys from the ignition in protest. A new defiance to him, he squared his shoulders and faced Derek. "What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? Hmm?"

Derek stayed silent, removing the cold press from his head so he could effectively glower at the teenager.

The scent of blood was overwhelming, but the lingering smell of something else was starting to become noticeable. Reagan looked him over once more. No self control, no healing, no strength… and desperate enough to ask for their help. "Derek...are you dying?!"

His jaw ticked, heart jumping at the blatant question he knew the answer to. He was running out of time…

"Not yet…" He secretly assured himself. "I have a last resort."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Derek lifted the sleeve of his henley shirt, pulling at the congealing blood below it.

The high school students couldn't hide their revulsion. Right below his inner elbow, a dark hole pierced straight through his arm. A new stream of blood mixed with the old trails and pus that stemmed from it. "I'm gonna be sick." Stiles mumbled.

The area around it was an angry red compared to his near white complexion. It was festered and infected. Black tendrils of poison protruded from his arm, flowing through the veins, slowly creeping their way to his heart with every passing minute.

"What is that?!" Stiles had to look away and shield his eyes from the offensive sight "Is that contagious?! You know what, you should probably just get out." Stiles had to cover his mouth to help keep the bile at bay.

Derek didn't much care about his sensitive stomach or Reagan's look of bewildered disgust. "Start the car. Now."

"I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look. Okay?" Stiles rebuked. "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."

A pregnant silence filled the car as Reagan silently looked between the two males, surprised at his bravery.

Derek's mouth twisted in a feral snarl. "Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out...with my teeth."

Reagan scoffed, leaning forward to place herself between them. "Buddy, I think you'd have a hard time tearing yourself out of a paper bag at the moment." Derek's frown twitched as if willing it to go even deeper. She met his hard stare with one of her own, hearing Stiles audibly gulp behind her.

"Stiles. Head to the vet." Was all she ordered. Stiles let out a breath, doing as he was told. Reagan sent a few more warning texts to her brother, stressing the new urgency to the situation.

She glanced to the werewolf, absentmindedly saying, "You look like you're going to puke."

Screech. The Jeep came to a complete stop as Stiles reached over and opened the door. "Not in here, you won't!"

Reagan's phone began ringing, her brother's goofy picture displayed. With eager finger's she answered.

"I'm going to hang you by your little wolf tail!" She chided him. "You don't leave me with a dying werewolf then turn your phone off to -"

Stiles intervened quickly and grabbed the phone. "'What are we supposed to do with him? By the way he's starting to smell...Like death." Stiles tactlessly informed. Reagan rubbed her lip to keep from smiling when the werewolf's stare made Stiles scoot closer to his door and gulp.

"Tell him we're going to the animal clinic. Ask him how we get in." She butted in.

"There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster." Was his sigh. He handed over her phone to Derek before checking for the rare oncoming traffic.

"Did you find it...If you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right? 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 want to stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet." It was hopefully the encouragement he needed as Derek hung up.

Reagan took back the phone, slowly and unsure. All joking or humor vanished as she stared at her screen. "The alpha would really kill him?" She whispered.

"Yes."

"Then when are you actually gonna start helping him?"

"How about maybe when I'm not dying."

Reagan threw the cold press back in his lap. "Should probably stop making so many people want you dead, then."

Derek held a tight grip on Reagan's shoulder to keep himself steady as they approached the clinic's loading dock. Still swaying on his feet, he felt the tingling of numbness slowly start to make its way through his legs. His eyes began to flicker their beta blue once more, weaker and dimmer. He was now in his final hours.

A new text arrived on her phone. Helping him over to a stack of dog food, she shrugged him from her shoulders. "Sit, don't die."

Above the chain of 20 unread texts from Clara, read one very important phrase. "Does Nordic blue monkshood mean anything to you?"

"It's a rare form of wolfsbane." Derek's gave a discouraged sigh. "He has to bring me the bullet."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to die without it." His breathing was becoming irregular and shallower. Reagan became alarmed when his eyes began to roll back in his head.

"Okay, okay, how do I slow it down?!" She gently slapped his face.

"Stop it-" Derek wheezed, "-from spreading."

"It'-like a - a poison in the blood right?!" She couldn't tell if it was a nod or difficulty keeping his head up. "Then I think a tourniquet might keep it in the arm. Help me get him up!" She ordered Stiles. She wasn't going to waste time trying to lift him herself.

Reagan took the key Stiles had retrieved, unlocking the door and quickly punching in the alarm code before running ahead. In the examination room she began scouring the drawers and cabinets until she found a tourniquet tube. Reagan turned around victorious, her mouth opening in a state of shock at the shirtless Hale behind her. Like a fish, it opened and closed as her brain attempted to find the words she was going to say.

She was certainly caught off guard with the very defined muscles that built his upper body. A blush made its way to her cheeks as she found her eyes falling lower on their own accord. She was redirected back to the task on hand when he cradled his injured arm. The black veins now spread through the entirety of his arm, inches from his chest. Regan tossed the tourniquet on the table that separated them, turning back to settle her blush and search for some alcohol and gauze.

"You know that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night's sleep couldn't take care of. " Stiles quipped.

Derek braced his hands on the steel table, panting for every breath. "When the infection reaches my heart it'll kill me."

"Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Reagan punctured the top of a new bottle and ripped the remains off with her teeth before gathering a fistful of gauze pads and bringing them to the operating table, only to find however that Derek was looking for something else. "You're going to be fine." She swallowed back the maybe that wanted to attach itself.

"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time, there's still a last resort..."

"Which is?"

He turned from the drawer, placing a bone saw on the table between them.

"You're going to cut off my arm."

Reagan McCall knew for a while that things would be different now that her brother was a werewolf. She had thought of scenarios where she would lock him in his room on full moons. She had planned lies for why he couldn't be at games. She had even dreamed a terrible nightmare of fatal accidents that could take place. However when she woke up this morning, she had not - under any circumstances - think she would be faced with the request to saw through a living being's arm. Not easily one to become squeamish, Reagan suddenly felt like passing out if it meant the room would stop spinning. "What?" She dumbly asked.

Stiles triggered the saw, the vibration in his hand and loud buzzing sound already too much for him. He gagged, dropping it on the table before him as every possible nightmare filled his head. "I can't…" He gagged.

Beside him Reagan splayed her hands, motioning to the tiny - dog sized - operating table before them. "What if you bleed to death?" Reagan tried to make him see reason. It was an animal clinic, not a hospital. And while her mother had taught her many life saving CPRs and first aids, she had not felt it necessary to go in-depth on amputations.

Derek could hear her heartbeat begin to thump rapidly. "Calm down. I'll heal if it works." Upon realizing his fill-in-nurse had become pretty much useless in her shock, Derek tied the blue band tightly around his arm. Tying it off with the help of his teeth.

"I don't think I can do this." Stiles tried to calm himself.

"Why not?!" Derek growled.

"Well, because of the cutting through flesh, the sawing of the bone-

"The blood!" Reagan squeaked.

He seemed almost disgusted by her revelation. He honestly expected more from her out of the two of them. "You faint at the side of blood?" Derek's arm fell heavily onto the table, all feeling gone from it as it began to turn blue.

"No, you dick." Reagan shouted at him. "But I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!" She yelled back.

A phones ringtone broke the silence that followed. "Where the hell are you?!" Reagan asked.

"At the party. Where are you?" Clara's high pitch was unexpected.

Reagan winced, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Listen Clara I really can't talk right now."

"But Danny's as-"

"Bye Clara." She had bigger and bloodier issues to worry about than her friends possible anger at the moment.

Derek's body straightened, every muscle tensing as his eyes scrunched close.

"What are you doing?"

Reagan turned back around from her phone call, just in time to begin to heave, a spurt of rotten black goo being expelled over Reagan's lower legs and shoes. "HOLY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!" Stiles looked physically pained, as he flinched away.

Reagan's entire body stiffened. She bit her lip to keep her scream of disgust at bay, focusing on the white ceiling tiles above her. She tried to channel her mother, not letting the biological mess get to her. In all fairness; however, her mother would probably be freaked out too.

"It's my body trying to heal itself." He coughed.

"Well it's not doing a very good job of it." Reagan swallowed back her own surge of sickness as she felt the warm bile slip into her shoes.

"Now! You gotta do it now." Was his hoarse whisper. His body was losing all fight. Barely able to stand, he fell forward onto the table. It was nearing his heart now, the tightness and searing pain of the poison slowly wrapping around it. He presented his arm, prepared for the pain to come if it ment ending the torture that was.

Reagan looked at his prone position, head resting on the table, eyes wide and unfocused as he looked in her direction yet saw through her. He felt like a real person at that moment. No supernatural superiority. No cocky bullshit. No threatening Stiles. Just fear. A desperate - last ditch effort - kind of fear. "Just do it!" He screamed at them. Begging.

Stiles snatched the saw, a string of curses and pleas heard under the whirring of the saw.

Reagan surged forward, bending over his shoulder and head, placing a soothing hand on the back of his neck as she shielded him from the sight. She gripped his wrist with all her might, to hold it down. Was he shaking, or was she?

It was really gonna happen. Stiles lined up the saw, as high as he could. Reagan hid her face in Derek's shoulder in her own effort not to scream.

"Oh god, here we go…" He warned. "Three..Two..."

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Like a bullet, Reagan's head snapped up to gaze upon the glorious figure of her brother. A laugh of pure relief escaped her.

Stiles switched off the saw and dropped it. "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares."

"Did you get it?" Derek's head raised slightly, making Reagan stand up. He braced his hand on her shoulder, weakly pulling himself up.

"What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles voiced what they had been wondering as Derek held up and examined the bullet Scott handed him

"I'm gonna... guh..gh" Surely this is what a heart attack felt like. Derek gritted his teeth, overcome with pain until he finally passed out. The werewolf fell heavy into Reagan. Her upper arm strength only able to slow him down as she too was brought to her knees by the sudden dead weight.

Scott raced past them, chasing the bullet that had slipped from Derek's grasp and rolled towards a drain. Reagan slapped at Derek's face before frantically checking for a pulse. She tried the neck, the wrist, moving over different spots of she tried to calm her own thundering heartbeat. The barking of dogs and Stiles panicking further distracted her.

"I think he's dying. No, I think he's dead!" Stiles rambled.

"Stiles, shut up!" The siblings yelled at him. Both equally flustered and in need of concentration. She kept moving, trying to find something she prayed was still there. And after she moment of focus, she found it. A fluttering twitch under her finger tips as the beat of his weak heart echoed through their skin. "He's alive!"

"I got it! I got it!" Scott's turned to them, his partial shift fading as he pulled the bullet from the great with his clawed finger tips.

"What do we do?" Stiles looked between them for an answer. Derek was here. The bullet was here. But what did they do with the two of them?

"He's alive, just unconscious. You have to wake him up!" Stiles looked at her like she was crazy. If she didn't know what to do why would he?

He only had one, very drastic, very dangerous, idea. With a forlorn look Stiles nearly whimpered. "Please don't kill me for this!"

Without warning, his fist swung out. Reagan gasped as it connected sharply with Derek's cheek bone. His head snapped to the side, eyes fluttering open.

Stiles grabbed his aching knuckles, trying to shake off the burst of pain that fired up his hand. "Ugh! God!" It had worked.

"Give me that." Derek motioned for the bullet. Stiles and Scott pulled him to his feet while Reagan kept him from teetering back.

Biting the bullet, literally, the Beta spit out the cap. He hurriedly tapped out the finely crushed leaves inside onto the table. Pulling out a lighter from his jean pocket, he set the little pile on fire, the werewolf poison burning like a sparkler before fading into a blue wispy smoke. Derek inhaled the glowing fumes deeply.

"All good?" Stiles asked.

If only it was that simple.

Derek brushed the ash into his good hand, bravely covering his wound in it before pressing it directly into the hole with his finger. At least he began to. His green eyes rolled back into his skull and the wolf dropped once more.

This time Reagan stepped out of his way. "Oh for Christ's sake." She mumbled. Reagan silently wept for all sense of normalcy that had left her this friday night. She pressed her thumb over the open wound, pressing the powdered cure deeper into the flesh. A howl of pain, half man and half animal, escaped him. Reagan straddled the werewolf, doing her best to keep him from twisting away his arm from her. She gritted her own teeth, the feeling of sticking your finger tips in someone's muscles and blood not something she ever wanted to do again.

One last impressive growl echoed through the room and Reagan noticed how the dog's around them finally went silent.

But so had Derek.

It wasn't until his body relaxed under her that Reagan noticed his chest wasn't moving. "Oh Shit." She whispered. She pressed her ear over his heart. Nothing. No beating, no moving.

"Do something!" Scott and Stiles were in equal panic. "Reagan!"

A memory began to play in her head, her body adjusting accordingly.

She remembered vividly the last time anyone had let Scott forget his inhaler. He was 11 and having the time of his life as he ran around their grandparents house, chasing the other neighborhood kids in a game of tag. The spring air was great for the surrounding garden but not so much for the extreme asthmatic. The wind picked up, ruffling her hair as she played with the dog. A sudden chill creeping up her spine as she saw the flowers around her ruffle and bend under the force. It was moments later Scott began his first cough, then another, and another…

The tell tale sign of the rattle and wiz of the inhaler never followed. She screamed for her mom while her little legs sprinted towards his now fallen and still figure behind the tree.

Melissa had prepared Reagan at a young age for incidents like this. One extremely asthmatic child meant the other had to be prepared, and Reagan was. Though younger, and timid, and unsure she performed CPR on her brother just like her mother had taught her.

This time she was ready...

Her hand took a firm hold of his jaw, tilting his chin up to clear the airway. Taking a calming breath herself, she pinched his nose close. She ignored the choking gag from Stiles as her lips sealed over his own. One deep breath was exchanged, making sure his chest rose before beginning compression. Interlocking her fingers, one hand over the other, she pressed hard on his chest.

Repeating the process a couple more times she nearly jumped when Derek suddenly let out a gasp, his body arching up in a shock reaction, bucking into her. Reagan let out a gasp falling back down onto him, her hands bracing her on his shoulder and chest.

Blushing deeply, she felt his heart hammer in his chest, working double time in order to get his blood moving before evening out back to normal. Unable to meet his eyes she didn't see them scan over her flushed face momentarily before looking towards the boys. They watched as blue whips emerged from the wound as the black vines retreated before the wound was gone all together. Not ever a scar...

"That was awesome! Yes!" Stiles threw his fist up and cheered.

Scott quickly extended his hand, helping Reagan stand up before she slumped back to the counter for support. That was exhausting. "Are you okay?" She asked the prone Hale.

"Except for the agonizing pain?" Derek had the nerve to sass back. She gave a disbelieving scoff and scowl as she crossed her arms.

"I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health." By the death look he received, Stiles joke was unappreciated. He once more backed away, once more intimidated now that he was back to full health.

"Okay, we saved your life," Scott spoke up. "-which means you're gonna leave us alone. You got that? And if you don't I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything-"

It seemed her brother still believed that by confessing his lycanthropy easy on, somehow the Argents would take pity. Maybe they did know of a cure… Maybe it was death.

"Are you gonna trust them?" Derek's passive aggressive tone interrupted Scott's threats. "You think they can help you?"

"Why not? They're a lot freaking nicer than you are!" Scott was a bit emotional, and Reagan knew Allison was the reason why. And yet she turned to Derek for answers as well. He had told them he'd help Scott, yet he'd done nothing: no advice, no tricks, and no information whatsoever yet.

Reagan watched as Derek seemed to freeze, a cold and angry disbelief freezing him. He was always just so angry... None more so than when the Argents were mentioned. "Yeah, I can show you exactly how nice they are."

"What do you mean?"

"You want your first lesson? Follow me..."

The two human teenagers realized a bit to late what that meant as the werewolves disappeared into the night. Left to clean up the evidence of their misadventure, Stiles and Reagan shared a tired look. "I'm not cleaning that up." Reagan beat him to it. As far as she was concerned, she'd done the hard work keeping the asshole alive. "Janitor closet is over there." She pointed to the door just outside the room.

As Stiles got to work putting away their make-shift surgery, Reagan lifted herself up to sit on the counter beside the sink. Toeing off her vomit covered shoes, she couldn't help let out a dark chuckle.

At least she got out of going to Danny's party...

※ Mikky Ekko - Smile ※

Please Review. (It's been a bit, is anyone still reading?)