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Nanowrimo -- Day 6

Day 6 Word Total: 1,093/1,667


Overall Word Total: 7589/50,000


Words Left To Write: 42,411/50,000


Today's Words:


It occurs to Derek after the candy striper boy – Stiles – leaves that Derek could just slip out of here. It would be easy now that they think he's sedated. He could just stand up and leave. Hell, he could jump out the window. But honestly? Derek is tired. Nothing makes sense and he just wants his mom to come back and tell him everything's going to be okay.



Derek would try killing himself again to ease the pain that blossoms in his chest and makes it hard to breathe when he realizes that not only is his entire family dead, but they've been dead for six years. He would try, but he'd probably fail again. Maybe whatever had saved his life the first time would keep doing it again and again. Maybe Derek can never die.


Plus, if he dies now, he'll never figure out what the hell is wrong with that Stiles kid, a puzzle that nags at the back of Derek's brain until he can't not think about it.


It reminds Derek of the way he thought about Kate after he'd first met her and he wonders if she's still alive six years later. She must be really old by now. Old and slower, easier to overpower and kill the way Derek couldn't the last time he'd seen her. It felt like just three days ago to him, the pain of Kate's bullets taking his breath away and the anger he felt when she expressed her regrets at not having any wolfsbane on hand.


"Why don't you just kill me too?" he'd asked, coughing blood and spitting it on the floor as he tried to sit up. He was an alpha now, harder to kill, but it could be done. All Kate would have to do was shoot him in the head and then cut him in half. Why couldn't she just do that for him?


"Because," Kate had replied with a sarcastic pout, "it's just more fun this way. See you around, sweetie!"


Sitting in his hospital bed, Derek dries his wet eyes on the scratchy sheets wrapped around him and tries to clear his mind of everything, the way his mother had taught him. Her meditation techniques are useful for avoiding shifting in public, and they can help now as well. He tries to anchor himself on the thought of his family, like he always had before, but that just makes him feel less stable, not more. He needs something other than the gnawing pit of anger in the bottom of his stomach and the growing conviction that the way to go from here is definitely to go for revenge. He needs someone.


But Derek has no one. Everyone is either dead, or thinks he's been missing for six years and has moved on. The closest he has to a friend now is Stiles, and he doesn't even know the kid's first name. The closest he has to a parent is the nurse that's been keeping him calm and the closest he has to a protector is the sheriff who found him out in the woods.


This is going to be bad. Derek can feel the thrum of the Alpha energy coursing under his skin, in his blood, in his muscles and bones. He can practically taste the need to shift, to go feral and run through the night. When the full moon comes, if Derek still doesn't have an anchor, someone is going to die. He knows better than to count on it being someone who deserves it. The people who deserve to die never get what's coming to them and it's the innocent people, the families, that get caught in the crossfire.


Derek doesn't sleep and when the psychologist comes to talk to him in the morning, he's still sitting in his hospital bed, meditating on the fact that he was supposed to die but didn't. The doctor asks a lot of questions and Derek contemplates not answering any of them, but eventually he just tells the woman he was confused and he understands now what's going on and no sorry, he still doesn't remember his name.


A few hours later, Derek's first nurse from the night before comes back, only this time she's wearing normal clothes instead of scrubs. The doctor with her takes Derek's clipboard and says, "Well, aside from the lingering confusion, you're perfectly healthy." Derek snorts. Of course he is. He's so healthy, he can't even die while trying. "We need this bed, so we're going to have to remand you to the foster system until CPS can figure out where you belong. They've placed you with Mrs. McCall for now."


The nurse, Melissa, raises her hand and gives Derek a smile. He wants to resent how welcoming her smile is, or jump on that little bit of hesitance he can hear in her heartbeat, but he can't. Mostly he's just grateful they're letting him out of here. Maybe if he's somewhere quieter, somewhere that doesn't smell like blood and death, Derek will be able to sleep.


Though he is concerned with the nurse's safety. What if someone comes looking for him now that he's back? When they're alone, he asks Melissa, "People won't be able to find out I'm staying with you, will they?"


Melissa looks at him, her jaw tipped open with surprise. Then she closes it and gets that fierce look that reminds Derek of his mother. "Of course not. You're a minor, Derek. All your information is protected. Now, come on. We'll get you settled in. You know, I have a son your age. I'm sure Scott won't mind lending you some clothes until we can buy you some new ones."


Derek nods at her kindness and doesn't say how difficult it will be for him to wear clothes impregnated with a stranger's scent. The scrubs they gave him to go home in are bad enough.


"We'll even get you enrolled at school," she goes on to say, steering Derek through the halls and out to her car. "You're a sophomore, right? So is Scott. I'll introduce you two and he can show you around!"


Derek thinks that sounds like the worst idea ever and if Melissa is planning to foist him off on her son, maybe he will just run away and save everyone the trouble. But something about the way Melissa puts a hand on his shoulder like everything's going to be okay, makes Derek decide to stay. At least for now.