𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐗𝐈𝐈: 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭

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Magic Bullet

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Magic Bullet




Hazel, Stiles, and Derek drove around for what felt like hours. Darkness settled on Beacon Hills, and they still had no place to go. It wasn't as though there was a werewolf sanctuary lying around, and Derek was adamant they couldn't go to his house.

They were receiving no help from Scott, who had kept his contact with them throughout the afternoon to a minimum. Things were not fantastic, and Hazel was beginning to worry they would have to use Derek's last resort. She didn't even want to know what his last resort was.

With every passing minute, he looked closer to death. He looked so sick Hazel was beginning to feel sympathy for him. The poor guy was on death's doorstep, and the only people who could help him were a trio of confused teenagers.

At long last, after she'd been trying to reach him for half an hour while Stiles drove around, Scott picked up his phone. She hit the speaker so they could all listen, and Stiles pulled over.

"What are we supposed to do with him," Hazel demanded over the phone.

"Take him somewhere, anywhere," Scott whispered, trying to talk to his friends without the Argents hearing.

"You think we hadn't thought of that?" She replied, "And by the way, he's starting to smell!"

"Like, like what?"

"Like death," Stiles hissed, moving towards the phone and ignoring Derek's glare.

It was true. The car smelled like rotting flesh and blood. When she was younger and they went on long drives through the country, the kangaroos and other roadkill on the side of the road had smelt better than Derek did now.

"Okay," Scott said, finally sounding like someone who had an idea, "Take him to the animal clinic."

"What about your boss?" Stiles asked.

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

Stiles sighed, and turned to Derek even though he had heard the conversation, "You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you."

The phone was snatched off Hazel, and Derek raised it to his face, "Did you find it?"

"How am I supposed to find one bullet," Scott hissed, "They have a million. This house is like the fricken Walmart of guns."

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

Okay, now Hazel definitely felt bad for him. He'd moved beyond sounding angry, and he just sounded tired.

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