fucking LOOK at that man. goddamn who let him be so beautiful ?? anyway, enjoy the gif and chapter that's equal parts baby liam, derek and willow love, and gut-wrenching angst. she's a little lengthy :)

happy early valentine's day from me to you ♡︎

☽︎

i can't heal you if you're not a werewolf anymore.

[ 4.08 — 4.09 ]

Willow stood with Scott, Stiles, Kira, and Liam in the kitchen of the McCall house. Three laptops were set on the dining room table, including Willow's, which was covered in lots of stickers.

"I don't approve of this plan," Willow mumbled.

"We know," Stiles said, sighing. "And you're not even gonna be at the hospital, so stop complaining."

Willow had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Of course, she'd complain when the plan was to temporarily kill Scott in order to lure the Benefactor out of hiding. It was quite literally the worst plan they'd ever come up with, especially when Willow's healing ability couldn't help bring him back.

Any time Willow tried to talk Scott out of this, either he or Stiles told her it had to be done.

"Is three enough?" Kira asked, looking at the laptops.

"Depends on how many cameras they have," Stiles told her. "But I think so."

"Are we really doing this?" Liam asked nervously. "I mean, Willow makes some really good points, and I'm pretty sure she's the smartest—"

"We're doing it," Scott interrupted. "Tonight."

"But isn't it kind of dangerous?" the youngest wolf asked.

"It's incredibly dangerous and borderline idiotic," Stiles admitted.

"Have you guys done something like this before?" Liam questioned, eying them all.

"Something dangerous?" Stiles asked. "Or something idiotic?"

"I think it's a yes to both," Kira muttered.

"It's a definite yes to both," Willow claimed, pouting. "And this is at the top of the list for most dangerous and idiotic."

"We know, Will," Scott said, sighing. Then he looked at Liam. "You don't have to be part of it if you don't want to—"

"I'm not scared!" Liam snapped defensively. He didn't want to come off as a weak child in the eyes of everyone else.

"Then you're borderline idiotic," Stiles told him, patting him on the shoulder. "If we do this, we don't know what's coming for us. You know that, right?"

"How do we know something's definitely coming?" Kira asked.

"Because the tape from Garrett's bag said visual confirmation required," Scott told them.

As it turned out, the bag under Scott's bed that Malia asked about was a bag full of cash — though he wasn't sharing how much cash. There was also a cassette tape with instructions on how the Deadpool operated. It was safe to assume all the assassins received the same tape.

"Simon said the same thing," Stiles said, referring to the PSAT testing administrator who almost killed them all the day before. "He couldn't get paid by the Benefactor until he had proof that you guys were dead."

"So, the idea is... what if you kill someone on the Deadpool, but you can't send the proof?" Scott prompted.

"You don't get paid," Kira said.

"But how does that get us any closer to the Benefactor?" Liam asked.

"He still needs to know if the target is really dead," Scott said.

"Especially if it's someone high on the list," Stiles said, cutting his eyes to the alpha worth twenty-five million.

"So, if he wants visual confirmation..."

"He's going to have to come himself," Scott told Liam.

Willow continued to pout the entire time they went through the plan. She still gave input though, not wanting to risk them making any small mistakes. Only one day had passed since they almost died at the school. Couldn't they take a break before trying something so drastic?

Though Willow was helping bang out the details of the plan, she wouldn't be with them at the hospital. Truthfully, she didn't like leaving Derek, especially with more and more assassins surfacing. So, she'd be staying in with him at the loft.

Well, she'd be staying in with Derek and Braeden. After being released from the hospital, Derek was letting her stay at the loft until she was actually fully recovered. He felt a bit guilty since she got shot while doing work he hired her for.

It comforted Willow, knowing that Braeden was there. Not only did she like the older woman, but she knew Braeden could hold her own. With Derek's strength not what it was, having Braeden and her endless supply of weapons assured Willow that Derek had some kind of protection. They didn't want a repeat of when the Mute broke in and nearly killed Peter.

Braeden's presence was one of the only reasons Willow felt comfortable enough to part from Derek for a few hours to come and discuss this whole 'killing Scott' plan. She would head back fairly soon — Willow couldn't stand to be in the room when Noshiko stopped his heart.

While Kira was going to pick up her mother and Scott was talking to his own — Melissa hated this plan with a burning passion — Willow sat with Liam in the living room. He didn't say much else after Stiles and Scott repeatedly shut down his concerns and worried questions.

"Liam," Willow said softly, getting the boy's attention. "You—"

"I'm not scared," he insisted, not even waiting to see what she was actually going to say. It was a lie. They both knew it. She could see the fear swimming in his big, blue eyes.

"Okay," she said, nodding. "But I'm scared. I'm not very good at being brave — that was always Allison's thing. So, to ease my terrified mind, can you promise me something?"

"I'll help protect Scott. Don't worry," he assured her.

"Not that." Willow knew he'd protect Scott. "I want you to promise to protect yourself, Liam. You didn't ask for this life, so don't get so caught up in trying to be brave and fearless that you get yourself hurt. Please."

Liam looked down at his lap. His eyes watered and his lip trembled, telling Willow how scared he really was even if he didn't voice it, scared of what the others would think of him. It didn't help that only a week ago, Garrett had kidnapped him as leverage to try and get Violet back — which ended with Kate Argent killing both assassins.

"Oh, hey. Come here," Willow said gently. Liam shifted on the couch and leaned his head on her shoulder while she hugged him. "Everything is going to be okay as long as you're always honest with Scott about what you are and aren't comfortable with — and you ignore Stiles' judging comments."

"I just - this is insane," Liam whispered. "Temporarily dying and hunters trapping us in wells and Deadpools. I'm supposed to be focusing on class and lacrosse."

"Then focus on class and lacrosse," she told him. "And don't feel bad about just being a teenager. None of us will ever hold that against you."

"Stiles will," he grumbled.

"Ah, what did I say?"

Liam managed a small smile. "Don't listen to Stiles."

"Exactly."

"I, um, I'll still help tonight," he mumbled, continuing to lean on her. "But thank you. I really needed to hear that. It helps knowing I have at least you in my corner."

"You're stuck with me in your corner for life. No take-backs. And you can always come to me."

"I don't think that's something to complain about."

☽︎

It was silent in the loft as night fell. Derek was sound asleep on the couch as Willow laid in the bed next to Braeden. Given that she was still recovering, Derek offered his side of the end to her, knowing it was more comfortable. Willow thought it was quite chivalrous, but at the same time, she always slept better next to Derek.

And she certainly could've used his strong and comforting arms wrapped around her as she stared up at the ceiling, worrying about Scott. Stiles would, of course, call her if things went south. Just the thought of one of her best friends laying in the morgue, literally dead, made her want to break down crying. She couldn't imagine how Melissa felt.

Willow would also feel better with Derek holding her because he was the other thing she was worried about. Even in the dark, she could see a small red stain on the side of his white tank top, the moonlight from the huge window falling on him. He never showed her the bullet wound from the hospital, but something in Willow told her that it never healed.

"Why are you still awake?" It was Braeden who whispered to her. She had rolled over and pressed on her own bullet wound in an uncomfortable way, which stirred her. Then she spotted Willow's eyes, which were wide open and focused on Derek. "Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"Maybe I'm brooding because you never bought me that pink bra," Willow quietly joked, not wanting to wake Derek.

Braeden rolled her eyes, seeing right through her. "I'm serious."

"I'm worried about him. Nothing new. I'm always worried about him," she admitted.

"Then instead of staring at him, go check on him," she said, knowing it would make Willow feel better. "Even big bad werewolves need sweet little girlfriends to check on them."

Except Derek wasn't a big bad werewolf, as they were about to learn.

Braeden sat on the edge of the mattress as Willow got up and walked to Derek. He remained asleep on his back as she quietly crouched by his side. Her hands shook without permission as she raised the end of his shirt, showing off the bullet wound on his side. It hadn't even fully clotted yet, much less healed over.

Suddenly Derek's hands clamped over hers as he opened his eyes to look at her. "What are you doing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Willow didn't speak at first. She led one of his hands to her lips to kiss it. There wasn't any flow of healing magic, but not for lack of trying. Her eyes welled with tears as the wound remained.

"You're not healing," Willow whispered, her face crumpling. Braeden watched from a few feet back, now intrigued by the new development. Not even Willow's kiss healed him.

"You know some wounds take longer," Derek told Willow.

"Not this long," she said, squeezing his hand.

"Some take longer and some leave scars," Braeden spoke up, eying Derek carefully — or rather, his wound. "But not for people like you."

"Maybe I'm just tired," Derek said, clearly lying. Then he released Willow's hands and turned away, facing the back of the couch.

"I wanna see your eyes, Derek," Willow said, having a horrible hunch.

"You just saw them," he replied innocently. Any other time, Willow would've thought it was cute.

"Show me your real eyes, Derek," she insisted.

Derek sighed before turning back around. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment before staring at Willow. Green eyes met hers, the color permanent and unwavering. He couldn't even attempt to flash the golden yellow set.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Willow asked, her voice wavering. "I thought - I thought it was just a little bit, but this is everything."

"I didn't want you to worry—"

"It's my job to worry about you, Derek, because you don't worry enough about yourself," she interrupted. "And I can't - I can't heal you if you're not a werewolf anymore."

What were they supposed to do if another assassin got to him, this one with better aim?

"What does she mean you're not a werewolf anymore?" Braeden asked, finally coming closer. She spotted the fresh bullet wound and frowned. "You need to put something on that. And you can tell me what the hell is going on while you do."

And so he did. As Willow carefully cleaned his wound and patched it up, using the medical knowledge she'd learned from her father, Derek quickly summarized the process of losing his power. Braeden was surprised to learn that things hadn't stopped after his eyes changed color. And unfortunately, she didn't have any answers for him.

"It's just a graze," Braden noted as Willow finished patching him up. She was a bit of an expert at recovering from being shot at. "But make sure it doesn't get infected."

"I'll make sure it doesn't," Willow said as Derek put a shirt back on. And if Derek threw a fit about her insisting on cleaning it each day, she had no qualms about using her Charmspeak to keep him still.

"That's probably something you've never had to worry about before, is it?" Braeden asked him. Derek shook his head a bit self consciously. "So, it's everything, then? No glowing eyes, no healing?"

"No hearing, speed... everything."

"Strength?" she asked.

Derek scoffed. "I can still win a fight," he declared.

Braeden looked at him challengingly and placed her arm on the table, silently asking him to arm wrestle. Willow couldn't help but giggle at the look on Derek's face, who thought it was ridiculous. But he got in position anyway.

"You ready?" Braeden asked him.

"Mm-hmm," Derek hummed, an arrogant look on his face.

"One... two..."

Before she could say three, Braeden swiped his injured side with her free hand. Derek yelled in pain while she slammed his hand on the table. He instantly pulled away and clutched his throbbing side.

"You cheated! That's - that's cheating," he said, panting a bit.

"I won," Braeden stated, shrugging. She watched as Willow carefully coaxed Derek into an upright position again. "When you're a human facing off against the supernatural, you need to bend the rules a little bit. I'm gonna teach you how to bend. Both of you."

"Both of us?" Willow asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I heard Chris Argent tried to train you once," Braeden said, having done her research on the whole pack before taking the job from Derek.

"That arrangement didn't exactly withstand the test of time," she mumbled. In fact, it hadn't even lasted a full month. "And I can still barely throw a punch."

"I'm not gonna teach you to throw a punch. I'm gonna teach you how to shoot a gun." All the color drained from Willow's cheeks as Braeden grabbed a small gun from her bag and put it on the table in front of Derek and Willow. "This is a Sig Sauer P226 9mm."

"I don't like guns," Derek said, crossing his arms.

"That's because you've never learned to use one," Braeden stated.

"Or, because I've been shot. Repeatedly," he told her. "And Willow almost died after getting shot."

Willow subconsciously let her hand trail under the hem of Derek's shirt, which she wore to bed. She could still feel the raised scar under her ribs from when Matt shot her.

"You'll like this one. The legal clip size in California is ten. You always want to remember how many shots you fire. Running out of bullets can get you killed. It also makes you look stupid. But, using a gun isn't just about learning how to point and shoot," Braeden lectured.

"Why's that?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow. Shooting a gun didn't exactly look hard to him.

"Because an average person can move twenty-one feet in one-point-five seconds. If they have a knife, they can gut you before you can pull and fire. So, with a gun, you need distance," she informed him.

"If I already have distance, I think I'll just run," Willow said under her breath, but Braeden still heard.

The mercenary nodded, signaling for Willow to come closer. She grabbed Willow's hand, which began to shake, and wrapped it around the gun.

"I don't - I don't like weapons," Willow told her, eying the gun. "Or anything violent really, but especially guns."

"I at least want you both to know how to hold and shoot one," Braeden said.

So maybe, Derek and Willow had grown on her, and maybe, Braeden didn't want to see either of them get hurt. She wasn't meant to go around making friends with her employers, but here she was getting attached and making friends.

Derek watched as Braeden stood behind Willow, guiding her arms and showing her how to hold the gun in her hands. It was an odd sight, seeing the most gentle person in his life with a weapon that could kill someone. But at the same time, he did want Willow to know how to defend herself. Especially if he couldn't given his lack of power.

"I'm still not going to carry one of these around," Willow said, as Braeden finished showing her how to load and unload it.

Braeden smirked, knowing she wasn't going to change the girl's opinion on them overnight. "What if I find you a pink one to match that bra?"

☽︎

It was a long process of Braeden showing Derek and Willow how to use a gun — Willow, admittedly, needed more tips than Derek. She taught her all about the safety features and how to not let the kickback knock her off her feet and to always keep extra clips lying around.

But eventually, they got a break because Braeden got a message regarding her Kate investigation. She dressed back up in her nice U.S. Marshal getup and left for the night. Though she did instruct Willow and Derek to practice disarming each other.

The thing was that it was incredibly easy to disarm Willow. Derek wasn't even giving it his all, too afraid to overpower her and hurt her. Each time she lifted the unloaded gun, he'd step forward and twist it out of her hold. Willow would then pout and stomp her foot in the most adorable way before asking to go again.

"Let's try it the other way," Derek told her. "Remember all the maneuvers I made and try to copy those."

Willow nodded before squaring her shoulders. Derek lifted the gun — even with it unloaded, he hated having it pointed at her — and nodded for her to make a move. She stepped forward and grabbed Derek's wrist, only for him to instantly maneuver her in his arms, having her back pressed to his front and the gun at her side.

"It's not fair though. You're so much bigger," Willow whined, stepping out of his hold.

"Braeden's only half a foot taller than you and she kicked my ass," he reminded her. "Come on. One more time."

Willow sighed before getting back into position. This time, she went for the gun while ducking under Derek's arm that reached for her. Except she got too turned around, and then when he twisted the gun out of her hand, she ended up tripping and falling back on her butt.

Derek tried to hide his amused smile as he looked down at her, taking in the pouty expression as she pushed loose strands of hair out of her face. When she saw the smile, she huffed in annoyance. But that didn't stop her from making grab hands, silently asking for his help up, which he gladly did.

"We can go back to bed if you want," he offered, holding her close with one hand while the other still grasped the gun. There was a teasing smile on his lips. "I don't actually expect someone as small as you to get a gun from me."

"One more time?" Willow asked, softly.

He simply smirked down at her. "I could do this all day."

But Willow didn't step back and get into her previous position. She instead stayed in Derek's arms, looking up at him. Or rather, looking at his lips, which Derek noticed. Just as she went up on her toes, Derek leaned down to capture her lips in a kiss, pulling her close.

As Derek was too busy kissing her, Willow's fingers wrapped around the gun that he had all but forgotten about. He was quickly reminded though when the barrel was pressed against his stomach.

Derek pulled back and looked at her with wide eyes. She was grinning up at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, using the trick she had learned from Erica so long ago. "You cheated," he said, shaking his head.

Willow giggled quietly, her lips still hovering close to his. "I'm learning to bend."

Only a moment passed before Derek took the small gun and tossed it to the side. Then he kissed Willow again, this time with much more passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him lift her, roughly placing her on the table, not caring as a few items from Braeden's unloaded gun collection clattered to the floor. She could yell at them for damaging them later.

Willow's fingers frantically pulled at Derek's shirt until he tugged it off completely. Then she began kissing along his jaw and down his neck and chest, earning soft, content sighs from his lips. Derek's hands worked at her thighs, pushing the end of his own shirt over her legs and hips.

As soon as she felt his fingertips on the inside of her thighs, brushing against her underwear, she let out a needy whimper and shifted her hips closer. Derek let out a low, singular laugh before taking his hands away, moving one to the back of her knee and the other to her neck, guiding her face to look up at him.

"What kind of message would I be sending if I let a devious little cheater get what she wanted?"

She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "But - but I just wanted—"

"Oh, I know what you want," he said, thumb pulling on her bottom lip to keep her from talking. "But I don't think you deserve it after that stunt. What's gotten into my good girl?"

Without breaking eye contact, Willow daringly stuck out her tongue and licked the tip of his thumb that was still on her lip. Derek's dark, lust-filled eyes followed the movement, letting out a low growl.

"Then maybe," Willow whispered, leaning closer, "I'll just go back home and take care of myself—"

Willow was cut off by Derek harshly slamming his lips to hers, yanking her to the edge of the table so that he stood in between her parted legs. She let out a moan as his fingers dug into her thighs hard enough to leave bruises, pulling her hips into his. Derek bit her lip as he broke the kiss and began devouring the skin of her neck, encouraged by her pleading whimpers.

"Don't even fucking think about it."

☽︎

Braeden was still out — or if she did come back, she heard them before even opening the door and high-tailed it out of there. Derek couldn't help but smile softly at Willow, who was curled up against his side, having just fallen asleep. No, Derek didn't like guns, but if it was to protect the girl in his arms, he'd do whatever it took.

Derek softly traced the features of her face, letting his thumb brush under her eyes, along her nose, across her lips. Willow stirred at his touch, not fully asleep yet. A small smile made its way onto her face, knowing it was Derek's gentle touch, which she leaned into.

"Der," she mumbled sleepily. "Go to bed. I have school tomor..."

Willow trailed off as her eyes fluttered open. Derek didn't understand her silence as she bit her lip and stared at him. Or rather, she stared at his uncovered chest.

"What is it?" Derek asked, worried that something was wrong.

"I guess, um, I guess those usually heal," she said a bit shyly. Her cheeks were tinted with pink, though he still didn't understand why.

Derek followed her line of sight and looked down. It was difficult to see from that angle, but he could make out the bottom of a small, purple bruise. But with the way Willow's eyes wandered, he had a feeling it wasn't the only one.

He quickly rolled out of bed, determined to investigate. The sound of Willow's bare feet padding across the floor told him she was following after having slipped on his forgotten shirt to cover up. Derek went to the bathroom to study his appearance in the mirror.

Never had Derek Hale gotten a hickey, but now three adorned his upper body.

The first, which could easily be covered by a shirt, fell just under his collarbone. Willow remembered giving it to him, letting her fingers brush over his chest hair as she did.

The other two were a different story. A purple mark of the outline of her lips colored the base of his neck, right over his pulse point. The final bruise was under the right side of his jaw, just where his beard began to thin out, the hair doing nothing to hide it.

Derek was conflicted. On one hand, he was incredibly turned on and a little prideful to have marks from Willow on his skin. But on the other hand—

"I have to meet Peter in the morning," he complained. How the hell was he supposed to look his uncle in the eye with those on his neck? "I don't have any shirts that would cover this up."

"I'm sorry," Willow said, biting her lip to hold off a smile. She decided against telling him about the scratches on his back that she spotted on the trip to the bathroom.

Derek cut his eyes to her, taking in the mischievous look in her eyes. "I get the feeling you're not being very sincere."

Willow placed her hands on Derek's chest, letting her fingers brush across the hickey under his collarbone. "Maybe I just like admiring my work. Or maybe I'm glad you've finally got some payback."

"Payback for what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes playfully. "I don't know. Maybe for you constantly and purposefully giving me hickies in places that are almost impossible to hide. And let's not forget your little gift to match my cheerleading uniform."

"I do it because I don't want you to hide them," he said, dipping his head low to whisper in her ear. "Need everyone to know you're mine."

"And now they can know you're mine," Willow told him, looking up at him innocently while putting pressure on the bruise on his neck. Derek let out a soft hiss while gripping her hips tightly.

"God, are you two still going at it?" Braeden's voice kept Derek from pushing Willow up against the bathroom sink and kissing her. The mercenary had finally returned and could hear them talking in the bathroom. "I came by an hour ago but left, as it was in the best interest of my eyes and ears."

Willow and Derek came out of the bathroom, both a little embarrassed when they saw the amused smirk on Braeden's lips.

"Hey, Braeden," Willow greeted, her eyes on the ground. "Find any new leads?"

"I've got a trail I can follow in the morning," was all she said. "I'll be sleeping on the couch. Not even you two could afford the price to get me to sleep on that bed again."

"Sorry," she muttered, still embarrassed. Derek only rolled his eyes and walked past both girls, actually ready to go to bed now.

"Oh, Jesus, Will. Cut your nails or get him some antibiotic ointment for his back," Braeden said, eying the red scratches on Derek's back.

He froze and craned his neck to try and see his back. Of course, he couldn't see much of it, but he could feel them as the irritated skin moved, making him wince. Derek scoffed and looked at Willow, raising an accusing eyebrow.

Willow shrugged innocently, her cheeks bright pink. "Sorry."

"Again. It doesn't really sound like you mean it."

☽︎

Thankfully, the next few days passed without any more embarrassing moments involving Willow, Derek, and Braeden. The pack's investigation into the Deadpool and Benefactor seemed to gain some traction. Not only had Lydia broken the final third of the list, but she also came to the realization that her grandmother was a Banshee too.

A Banshee that may have faked her death and orchestrated the Deadpool. It was only a theory, of course, but it'd make sense for the Benefactor to be a Banshee or at least have one on his side. It was how they always seemed to know which marks were dead and which weren't. It was why the Benefactor never showed up to the hospital, lured in by Scott's trap.

So, Willow tagged along for moral support as Lydia went to Stiles' father to try and explain her family history. Stiles was there as well, the four of them crowded in Noah's office.

"It's not just that she could still be alive—"

"It's that she would've had to fake her death," Lydia stated, cutting Stiles off.

"Your grandmother, Lorraine Martin, faked her death?" Noah asked skeptically. He knew Lorraine when she was alive, and the story seemed too farfetched.

"Definitely," Stiles said.

"Maybe," Lydia corrected.

"We'll see," Willow stated, sitting on the edge of Noah's desk. She didn't even quite know how she felt about the theory.

"More than likely, yes," Stiles told him.

Noah sighed heavily. "Oh, I'm guessing you got a story to back this up?"

"She might be helping the Benefactor—"

Stiles cut Lydia off. "Or is the Benefactor."

"That sounds like a story worth hearing," Noah regretfully muttered. Then he moved to shut the door so that no one would hear them discussing faking deaths and supernatural assassins.

Lydia quickly summarized her weekend at her lake house with her mother. Not only did she learn about her grandmother having the same abilities as her, but the urn containing her grandmother's "ashes" was actually full of mountain ash. Inside was a message written in code meant for Lydia, which was what fueled the theory about her being alive. She had also unlocked the final third of the list, which had the name of a certain young deputy on it.

Speaking of, Noah didn't spot Parrish in the station anywhere, even though he was meant to be on desk duty. He poked his head out of the office. "Anybody seen Parrish? Haigh?"

"Haven't seen him," Officer Haigh told him. It was a lie, of course. Not even half an hour ago, he burned Parrish alive in his cruiser.

"I'm sure he's alright," Willow said, spotting the worried looks on both Noah and Lydia's faces.

"Or he's, ya know, been brutally killed for five million dollars because he's some kind of supernatural creature even though he doesn't know it," Stiles said bluntly.

Noah and Lydia glared at him while Willow rubbed her forehead. "Not helping, Sti."

"I wasn't trying to — what the?"

Stiles cut himself off as he spotted Parrish come in the station, covered head to toe in soot and ash and nothing else. The others turned and saw him just as he lunged at Officer Haigh in a fit of rage.

"You're dead!" they heard Haigh shout as Noah opened his office door. "But you're dead!"

"Hey! HEY!" Noah shouted, pulling his gun out.

Parrish threw Haigh to the ground and crawled on top of him, punching the shit out of him. Haigh was holding his gun, which fired on accident as he was attacked. Lydia grabbed Willow and they both crouched under Noah's desk when they heard the gun go off. The bullet hit Noah in the shoulder, who fell over, yelling in pain.

No one could stop Parrish, who angrily assaulted Haigh. It wasn't until the deputy was completely unconscious that he stopped, having nearly beaten him to death.

Parrish's anger was due to Haigh dousing him and his cruiser in gasoline and burning him alive. He was yet another assassin. That, of course, did nothing to explain how the hell Parrish was still alive. An attack like that would've easily killed any wolf, Banshee, Kitsune, or Incantator.

So, while Stiles and Willow went with Noah to the hospital, Lydia and Scott took Parrish to Derek's loft, wondering if maybe he knew something that could help them understand.

Thankfully, Noah didn't lose too much blood from getting shot, but the bullet didn't come out the other end. That meant they'd have to go in and remove it during surgery at the hospital. He'd be stuck there for at least two days.

"All right, Mr. Stilinski—"

Stiles cut Dr. Vandenberg off, the same doctor who helped deal with the MRI and dementia scare back when Stiles was possessed. "Sheriff. Sheriff Stilinski."

The doctor nodded at the correction and continued to address Noah. "I've got you scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, it's going to take a little digging to get that slug out of your shoulder."

"Yeah, it's fine," Noah said, flipping through the paperwork he had to fill out. "One more — what's this part here? This line?"

Dr. Vandenberg moved to his side and glanced at the paper. "Patient Responsibility. Parts of the procedure and hospital stay not covered by insurance."

"Are those big parts? Expensive parts?"

"That's between you and your insurance, unfortunately," he told him. "You should start feeling the morphine in a minute. Try to get some rest, Mr. — Sheriff."

As Dr. Vandenberg left, Noah glanced at Willow and his son, both of whom looked worried by the question he asked. "Hey, stop that. I was just curious about the terminology. We're not in any kind of dire straits."

But they were in dire straights.

"I know about the bills, Dad," Stiles admitted quietly. "I know about the collectors calling about Eichen House. I know about the advance from the department, about the credit cards."

"Stiles, are you going through my stuff?" Noah asked angrily.

"Yeah, I go through all your stuff! Especially when you keep things from me," he said.

"I keep things from you because you don't need to know everything," he snapped.

Stiles scoffed in annoyance. "Yes, I do! I have to know everything. How the hell else am I supposed to take care of you?"

"You're not supposed to take care of me!" Noah exclaimed. "I'm the dad — you're the son. You get it? Dad. Son. I take care of you. Both of you. Not the other way around."

"We're supposed to take care of each other," Stiles said weakly.

Noah sighed heavily and lowered his voice, not feeling like yelling anymore. "Hey, we're going to be all right."

"How do you know, Dad?"

"I don't," he said, letting his head relax against the pillow. "But, the morphine's kicking in... I'm not all that worried about anything right now..."

Stiles sank back in his chair and watched as Noah drifted off, the medicine taking affect. "But I am," he mumbled.

Willow stood suddenly and grabbed her bag, heading to the door.

"Where are you going?" Stiles asked, getting up quickly.

"I'm going to the billing department," she admitted. "And I'm taking care of this before he gets a chance to sign any paperwork keeping non-family members from paying the bill. This will cost a lot more than your MRI."

Stiles smiled a bit at her determination. "He's gonna be pissed when he wakes up."

"And that is why I won't be here when he wakes up," she said sheepishly. "Just let me know any updates — and when it's safe to visit without fear of being lectured."

☽︎

After settling things at the hospital, Willow made her way to the loft. Lydia's car and Scott's bike were still in the parking lot, telling her that they were still dealing with Parrish. In fact, they were just finishing explaining everything about the supernatural to him when Willow entered.

"What's a kanima?" Parrish asked, unable to picture the creature.

"My bestie," Willow said, a smile on her face as she leaned against Derek's side.

Scott shook his head, ignoring Willow's comment. "We'll get back to that. Just know that everyone like us — everyone with some kind of supernatural ability — is on the Deadpool."

"But I don't even know what I am," Parrish said, clearly still distressed.

"I'm pretty sure they don't care," Derek remarked. Not even Violet knew what Willow was when trying to kill her.

"How many professional assassins are we talking about?" Parrish asked them, hoping for a clear answer.

"We're starting to lose count," Lydia mumbled half-heartedly.

"But is it still just professionals?" Scott asked.

"I don't think Haigh's ever tried anything like this," Parrish told them. "I think he was taking a chance."

"That means anyone with the Deadpool could take a chance," Willow said, frowning. "There's no telling how many of those tapes are out there."

"But if Haigh had it, then who else does? How easy is it to get this thing now?" Parrish asked.

Unfortunately, they didn't have an answer to that. And the only lead they had was Lydia's grandmother, which Lydia began to explain, giving the long version of the story instead of the short one she gave Stiles and Noah and Willow in the police station.

"Meredith was only at my grandmother's lakehouse once, but I think once was enough," Lydia told them. Given that Meredith had killed herself not even a full week ago, driven to it by Lydia's insistent questioning, the banshee was a touchy subject.

"How did your grandmother know her?" Derek asked, frowning.

"She didn't. She found her. Because of another woman named Maddy — the woman she loved. I never met her, but I saw her name everywhere. She used to be part of a yacht racing team. There were plaques and trophies in the lake house from all the regattas she'd won," Lydia told them.

"How did she die?" Willow asked. She was as much a member of the Martin family as the actual Martins, but she'd never heard of Lorraine's deceased love.

"How's not the story," she told them. "It's what happened right before. My grandmother, Lorraine, used to work in San Francisco for IBM. She was there on a weekend, catching up on work. She started hearing this sound, like rain... But, when she looked out the windows, all she saw was blue sky."

"But she kept hearing the rain?" Scott asked. Just like Lydia heard things that weren't there.

"And it just kept getting louder. Rain and thunder, cracking like gunshots in her head — so loud, she finally just screamed."

"Like a banshee," Derek said, realizing what she was hinting at. It seemed that the ability ran in her blood — Peter's bite only activated the power.

"She called Maddy, who was planning on taking one of the boats out on the lake," Lydia continued. "But Maddy said that the sun was shining there, too. So, Lorraine didn't say anything."

"There was an accident?" Parrish guessed, seeing where the story was going.

"It took them four days to find Maddy's body," she said, her voice cracking. "And then it took decades to figure out how Lorraine knew. She started with parapsychologist — like the Ph.D. in their name made it more scientific. They built the study in the lake house according to every pseudoscientific theory they could find. None of it worked. So then, she started going to more extreme occult — things like mediums and psychics, all of them failures. Until she found Meredith. They found her in Eichen House — this fragile girl who didn't understand the things she heard. They brought her to the study and they almost killed her. She was hospitalized for over a year. She... never really recovered."

"My grandmother drove her insane. I drove her to suicide," Lydia whispered, still distraught over Meredith's death. "And all she ever wanted to do was help. My grandmother created the code for the Deadpool. They think she's the banshee who put the names out in the first place. She left me this message in the same code."

Scott looked at the piece of paper that Lydia showed them. He couldn't make sense of the message until it was put into a computer. "But she didn't leave a cipher key, did she?"

"When have we ever gotten that lucky?" Willow asked, raising an eyebrow.

"True," he muttered.

"I'll keep trying to find it," Lydia assured them. "I'm gonna take Jordan home."

"Willow, how's the Sheriff?" Parrish asked before leaving. He felt horrible about getting him shot because of his careless attack.

"He'll be alright," she assured him. "They're taking the bullet out in the morning, and then he'll just need to take things easy for a few days. Don't keep beating yourself up about it."

Scott stayed behind as Lydia and Parrish left, Derek shutting the door behind them. The alpha's keen eyes had spotted the firearm sitting on Derek's bed, but waited until they were alone to question him about it. Willow stayed silent, leaning against the wall as Scott picked up the gun and studied it.

"Careful with that," Derek said, walking over to him.

"I thought you didn't like guns?" Scott asked. Derek didn't say anything but he did take the gun from Scott and set it aside. "Does this have something to do with your eyes?"

Derek sighed, knowing it was time to be honest. They couldn't keep hiding it from everyone. "My eyes, my strength, the healing... All of it." Willow crossed the room and stood behind Derek, hugging him from behind to comfort him.

"Gone?" Scott asked in disbelief.

"Whatever Kate did to me, it's still happening," he stated. Derek placed his hands over Willow's on his stomach.

Scott followed the movement, dread filling him over what he was about to tell them. He didn't want to see the look on either of their faces.

"If the Deadpool really was made by a banshee, then there's something else that you should know about," Scott said slowly. "Your name broke the third list. It was a cipher key."

Willow dropped her hold on Derek instantly, hardly able to comprehend Scott's words. Her face crumpled, but Derek was much better at hiding his reaction.

"And the two other keys were Allison and Aiden," Derek stated, nodding somewhat.

"And I - I don't want to make you nervous, but it kind of feels like there might be a pattern there, doesn't it?" he asked. "Allison... Aiden... you."

"Names picked by a banshee."

"It - It could mean that you're in danger," Scott said.

Derek smiled grimly and shook his head. "Banshees don't predict danger, Scott — they predict death."

"No," Willow whispered, shaking her head.

Scott and Derek both looked down at her, seeing the horrified tears welling in her eyes. Just the mere thought of Derek dying made her chest ache. Derek glanced at Scott and nodded to the door, silently asking for a moment alone with her.

"I've gotta get home," Scott said quietly. He paused at the door, looking back at Derek regretfully. "I'm sorry."

"Willow," Derek began, placing his hands on her shoulder. "If Lydia really did—"

"No! No, no, no," she repeated frantically. The tears flowed freely as she shook her head. "No. You're not - you're not gonna — No! Okay, we'll just leave. Let's leave, Derek. We'll leave Beacon Hills — go live with Cora and Boyd and—"

"We can't run, Willow," he interrupted softly. "Not now. Not when everyone needs us most."

"And I need you! I can't - I can't lose you, Derek. You can't d - you can't!" Willow couldn't even bring herself to say the word 'die' as she clenched her eyes shut.

"Look at me, baby girl," he said softly. Derek cupped her face gently and pressed his forehead to hers. When she opened her eyes, Willow could see tears in his own eyes, though he was trying his best to keep it together. "Everything is going to be okay. We're gonna take it day by day. But everything will be okay."

"You can't promise that," she whispered, shaking her head. "You know you can't promise that. Especially now."

☽︎

The absolute last thing that Willow wanted to do was go to school and then to the bonfire, which was mandatory for both her and Scott as respective captains of their teams. All day, Willow moved like a zombie through the hallways, only able to think of Derek. It felt like a slap in the face, how easily he came to terms with his potential demise.

How he was so okay with leaving her on her own.

The only time that Willow's thoughts divulged from Lydia's prediction was when Scott came up to her at the lockers. She had been leaning tiredly against the lockers, not caring that she'd likely be late to class if she didn't get a move on.

"Willow, can you come with me to talk to Liam?" Scott asked her.

"Is he okay?" she asked, already beginning to worry about the younger boy.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But he's been a little off for a few days now — ever since the hospital." Ever since he had to fight off one of Kate's Berserkers, which nearly killed him. "I thought maybe you could help. I think he feels better about opening up around you."

"Of course, I'll talk to him," she agreed. "Is he in class?"

"No. He's skipping it, sitting in the stairwell."

The two of them went to the other side of the school where Liam was hiding. When he heard footsteps behind him, Liam visibly flinched. But he relaxed a little when he saw it was just Scott and Willow.

"Hey," Scott said gently. "You okay?"

Liam didn't respond, but when Willow sat next to him, he leaned into her. She ran her fingers through his hair comfortingly. "Wanna talk about it?"

After a moment, Liam nodded. "Last night, my printer went off by itself. I couldn't turn it off. I hit the cancel button, but it just kept printing."

"Printing what?" Scott asked him.

Liam then pulled out a folded-up piece of paper and showed it to him. It was the third list, which contained his name. It was as if the printer was taunting him, rubbing that three million price tag in his face. Telling him that countless assassins would jump at the chance to kill him.

Before Scott or Willow could say any comforting words, they heard Coach shouting from his office. "What the hell's this?"

They rushed toward his office and looked through the open door. Tons of paper littered his floor as his printer spit out sheet after sheet of paper. Without Coach spotting them and questioning them, Scott snatched one of the sheets and they crowded around it to see what it was.

"It's the list," Willow noted. "Updated with names crossed out."

"But it's not the same," Liam said, his eyes falling on his own name. He held out the sheet that was printed last night so they could look at them side by side. "You see the difference?"

Scott eyed Willow, whose face fell when she noticed. He looked at her sympathetically. "Derek's not on the list anymore... Most of it went toward Willow."

"She's thirty-five now! And I'm not worth three million," Liam said, his voice shaking. "It's eight now — eight million."

☽︎

Willow moved through the crowd of drunk high schoolers, walking on her toes to try and spot any of her friends. With the loud music and alcohol and assassins running around, she didn't want to be on her own.

The first person she found wasn't actually a member of the pack. It was Danny, who had a plastic cup filled with what smelled like vodka in hand. He grinned brightly as he grabbed Willow's hand and twirled her under his arm.

"There's my favorite cheerleader!" he exclaimed. "You look adorable in uniform as always. I see there's no thigh hickey this time."

Willow rolled her eyes playfully as he made fun of her and the night of the scrimmage. She was dressed in her cheerleading uniform just as all cheerleaders were required. The lacrosse players all wore their jerseys as well.

"Having fun?" Willow asked him over the music.

"Yeah. Kinda miss having Jackson at this thing though," he admitted, frowning. Jackson always looked forward to the bonfire that marked the beginning of the lacrosse season. But then Danny's frown shifted into a grin as he recalled something. "Hey, I know you're graduating this year, but you'll still hold him to the bet, right?"

Willow giggled, remembering the bet with Jackson that he lost. He agreed to come to the bonfire pep rally their senior year while wearing a cheerleading uniform instead of a jersey. And the two friends would not let Jackson living in London and Willow graduating interfere with that.

"Nothing will stop me from seeing him in this skirt," Willow said, shaking her head. Well, maybe getting killed by assassins might. "Hey, have you seen Scott yet?"

"Oh, yeah. He's over by the trees, farther from the DJ," Danny said, pointing her in the right direction. "He forgot to wear his jersey. Coach will be pissed when he hears about it."

After thanking Danny and kissing him on the cheek, telling him to drink safely, Willow moved through the crowd until she found Scott. He seemed to be searching for members of the pack just as she was, and he relaxed his tense jaw a bit when he spotted her.

"Hey," he called, getting closer to her. "Uh, having fun yet?"

"As much fun as you are," she said, giving him a pointed look. They both sighed in sync, knowing that this was the last place they each wanted to be. "Have you found any..."

Willow trailed off when she spotted Malia dancing near the edge of the crowd, a silver flask of alcohol in hand.

Malia'd been avoiding them all like the plague. And Willow, though she missed her, gave her the space she knew she needed. Malia was still hurt that they kept the fact that Peter was her father from her.

Scott saw Malia as well and grabbed Willow's hand, pulling her along to talk to Malia. "Hey! What are you doing here?" 

"Getting drunk!" Malia exclaimed, showing off her flask. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to make sure no one gets hurt," he answered.

Malia grimaced and took another sip. "That sounds fun, too."

"I don't want to ruin your night or anything, but we kind of can't get drunk," Scott informed her.

"What?" she asked, frowning.

"I think it has something to do with our healing. But trust me, I've tried — you're not gonna feel anything," he explained.

"Maybe you should tell him that," Malia muttered.

She nodded over her shoulder toward the picnic tables. Liam was sitting next to Mason and pouring liquor into an empty soda bottle so that if any police did show up, it'd at least look like he wasn't drinking underage.

At the rate he was drinking, it wouldn't be long before the young beta realized he couldn't get drunk either.

"I just want to talk," Scott told Malia.

"Well, I just want to dance," she responded.

"We had our reasons," he said, trying to defend their decision. "Willow wanted to, but we didn't tell you about Peter—"

"To protect me," Malia interrupted. "That's what Peter said you would say. And guess what he said next? That you were right. Does that surprise you?"

"No," Scott admitted. "It makes me wonder what he wants."

"Why can't he just want what's best for her?" Willow asked, defending Peter as she so often did.

Scott wouldn't even entertain the idea that Peter could ever care about anyone, let alone his daughter. "Malia, we need to stay together. You, me, Will, Stiles—"

"I don't wanna talk about Stiles," Malia angrily interjected. "I just want to dance and get drunk. So, let's dance!"

Malia grabbed Willow's wrist and pulled her closer, trying to get her to dance to the electronic music. But Willow only stood there, knowing they had to take things seriously, especially now that it felt like the walls were closing in on them. Like things were about to get worse, somehow.

When she realized Willow wasn't going to dance with her, Malia tried to wander off. But she stumbled and almost fell over before Scott caught her.

"Malia, whoa!" he said, taking in her unfocused expression and how she couldn't keep upright on her own. "You are drunk."

"Yep!" she exclaimed, letting out a high-pitched giggle.

"But you can't be," Willow said, frowning.

Malia's happiness at being drunk quickly faded to remorse as her head began to pound. She felt like she was about to throw up and pass out, in that order. "Is this what drunk feels like? It doesn't feel as good as I hoped."

"I don't think it's supposed to," he said anxiously. He grabbed Malia's flask and sniffed the contents. "Malia, what's in this? What did you have to drink?"

"Just vodka," she told him. It wasn't like she was drinking wolfsbane.

"We need to all stay together," Willow said. She looked at Liam, who was clutching his head. "I think it's happening to him too."

Scott nodded and wrapped an arm around Malia, keeping her upright as they started toward Liam and Mason. "Stay on your feet and keep moving."

Though she and Scott were fairly sure Malia and Liam weren't actually drunk, Willow ran off to get a few bottles of water to keep them hydrated. Both Liam and Malia were reluctant to drink it, feeling like any more on their stomach would make them sick.

"How much has he had to drink?" Scott asked Mason, looking at Liam. He had his head in Willow's lap, groaning softly.

"Not enough to get him like this," Mason replied, worried about his best friend's state.

"Something's happening," he muttered. "We need to get them out of here. I think we're gonna have to... um..."

Scott suddenly began slurring his words, feeling the effects of whatever was happening. He looked around, the edges of his vision blurring.

"How much did you drink?" Mason asked, seeing how his condition changed so quickly.

"Nothing — not even a sip."

"Could someone have drugged you all?" Willow asked, trying to figure out what was going on. That was the only thing that made sense. It was another assassin attempt.

Her words, of course, terrified Mason. Their first high school party ended with someone getting murdered, and at their second, his best friend got drugged. It wasn't exactly a good track record for the two's Freshmen experience.

But it wasn't drugs. Scott focused his ears and looked over at the DJ. He could pick up on a high-pitched sound that made him feel worse the longer he focused on it. "It's not the drinks. It's the music."

"Scott?" Willow asked, not quite understanding since she herself couldn't hear it. But she also knew he was telling the truth. "What do we do?"

"I have to... I have to turn off the music," Scott said, slowly moving toward the crowd. But he looked back at Mason and Willow. "Don't let them out of your sight."

"Wait," Mason called, wanting Scott to explain. But he didn't. He just walked uneasily toward the DJ.

Willow pulled out her phone and dialed Derek's number while pushing some of Liam's sweaty hair off his forehead. Derek picked up right away.

"Willow? What is it?" he questioned.

"Something's happening," she said, eyes glued to Scott in the crowd. "I - I don't know what, but I think we need you. Actually, we probably need Braeden, but I'd like you too."

"I'll bring her. But what's—"

"Scott!" Willow shouted, seeing as he collapsed in the crowd. She forgot about the phone call and jumped off the picnic table to run over to him.

But two security guards came out of nowhere and dragged Scott off. Willow turned and saw two more guards walk over to the tables and grab Malia and Liam, who were too out of it to fight back.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Mason asked them. "These are my friends."

"Your friends are overly intoxicated. They need to be escorted out," one of the guards said.

"Okay," Willow said, walking over. "We'll take them home. We can take it from here."

"That won't be necessary," the other guard said, glaring at her.

They tried to drag Malia and Liam off, but Mason got in the way. "I said, they're our friends—"

The guards shoved Mason to the ground effortlessly. Willow grabbed onto Malia's wrist, not letting them take her. Her eyes began to glow pink in preparation for using her Charmspeak to free them, following the hunch that these were the assassins to cause this.

"You're gonna let them — ah!"

A third guard had come up behind them and hit Willow over the head. Everyone around them was too drunk to notice as she collapsed in his arms and was carried off with the two werewolves.

When Willow started to come back around, she was on the floor in the hallway of the school. Her head was pounding too much to utter a comprehensible sentence, let alone a command. She could feel some kind of liquid soaking her clothes with a horribly strong smell.

"What is that?" Scott groaned out. "What are you doing?"

"It's gasoline. Haigh says we gotta burn you," the guard said, holding up a lighter with a sick smile on his face.

"S - stop," Willow said weakly, lifting her head. However, speaking only earned another guard slamming her head against a locker, making her cry out.

It seemed it was all over as the guard in front of Scott lit the lighter. But then by some miracle — a miracle named Mason — the music stopped abruptly. With the noise gone, Scott was able to get enough control of his body to grab the guard's hand. He shut off the lighter and twisted his wrist, breaking it. 

Before the other guards could come to their partner's rescue, Braeden and Derek appeared. The others watched as they fought the guards in hand-to-hand combat, easily overpowering them.

Derek rushed over to Willow and helped her sit up while inspecting the bleeding gash on her forehead.

"What happened to the gun?" Scott asked, eying Derek.

He let out a scoff, glancing at Scott for a moment before looking back at Willow. "You're covered in gasoline."

"Oh," Scott muttered sheepishly. "Yeah."