┏━━━━⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆━━━━┓

I MISS YOU, I'M SORRY

"IF I WAS DEREK HALE, WHERE WOULD I BE BLEEDING OUT RIGHT NOW..."

Emerson was in the driver's seat of her car, the engine idling as she gripped her hands onto the wheel. She was wracking her brain on where Derek's instincts might've led him, and as the car stayed unmoving in the apartment's parking garage, she was running out of options.

The loft was always a safe bet, especially if Derek knew the others would be too busy with Ennis to ambush him.

Had she grown up with her sense of smell, she could've tracked him by his scent; only, given that she'd gone almost half of her life without it, she didn't know how. She didn't know how to find his scent even though she could practically taste it if she thought about it too hard.

Emerson inhaled through her nose, a hand going to rub at her temple before she began reversing out of the spot. She needed to find Derek, she needed to make this right because his life was on the line.

Whenever she thought of him, she thought of Hannah. Her life was on the line too, and only now did Emerson realize that the others would have no problem being responsible for her death. Deucalion wouldn't, he was a man of his oh so specific word, but she couldn't afford to fuck this up. She needed to find Derek, help him, and play both sides.

The Avery girl could be just as nit picky as Deucalion; after all, he told her to find him, not bring him back for a second stab at a fight.

"Where the hell are you, asshole," she sighed out, stuck at the red light just outside of the building.

The streets were empty, the sun beginning to set, and Emerson's patience was already growing a little too thin when something slammed into the passenger door of her car.

Like she had summoned him, she saw the ghostly pale face of one Derek Hale. With wide eyes, she watched as a bloodied hand came out and trying opening the door, only for the man to fall onto the damn road.

She threw the car in park before scrambling out, hollering as she rounded the car where he'd just collapsed. "What the hell!"

She leaned down, the man's eyes all but rolling into the back of his head as he mumbled out a single word.

"Loft."

ೃ࿔*:⋆

"You so owe me for this." 

"Fuck you."

Emerson had managed to haul Derek's ass into her car before she shuttled them to the warehouse district. Getting the man out of the car had been one ordeal, but lugging him through the building and into the actual loft had been another.

Even with her supernatural strength, she still struggled to maneuver them. She complained the entire duration of the journey, partly to help take Derek's mind off of his life threatening wounds, but he just seemed as annoyed as ever.

She didn't know if that was necessarily a good thing or a bad thing.

Emerson had managed to get a few words off of him while they drove over, in between the sounds of pain he was emitting every time she accidentally ran over a pothole too quickly. Derek claimed he crawled his way out of the abandoned mall, and said that everyone thought he was dead.

She could certainly vouch for that last part, because she had thought his chance of survival was slim to none after the wound from Ennis and the fall. Deucalion's belief in him being alive, however, was what made a small sliver of hope manifest in her chest.

With his arm around her shoulders, half of his weight using her like a damn crutch, she deposited his figure onto the bed in the corner of the room. "Holy shit, dude," she huffed, wiping some sweat from her brow.

"Don't call me dude," he grunted out, and a flash of deja vu whipped through Emerson's body before she realized he'd begun to lift his shirt up. "How bad is it?"

Not that Emerson was looking, but if it wasn't for the large claw marks taking up space across his entire chest, she might've said he looked good. "Define bad," she winced, inspecting the wound as her stomach gave an untimely churn. His breathing turned ragged, and that alone paired with the black blood oozing from the wound sent alarm bells off in Emerson's mind. "If you die on me, I will personally recruit Lydia Martin to bring you back, just so I could kill you again."

He didn't give any verbal acknowledgment, his head only lolling onto the pillow beneath his head. Emerson held her breath, tuning into the sound of his heartbeat. Although it was slower than she would've liked, it wasn't faltering.

He had just fallen asleep.

Emerson sighed, going to sit on the edge of the bed. She stared at him, at his face that was slack from any hint that he was in pain. Before the action caught up with her, her hand reached for his arm that was lying limp.

Black veins crawled up her hand, dissolving into her body as she grit her teeth from discomfort. She took his pain without a second thought, as much as she could handle before she felt light headed. Pulling away and shaking out her wrist, she stood and made a start for the couch.

Plopping herself on it, she made sure her ear was facing toward the unconscious man. That way, if he woke up, she would hear it.

But first, she had to sleep off the pain she'd absorbed— the pain that was making sleep come all too easy.

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She woke up to the feeling of something touching her head— to gentle fingers combing her hair away from her face.

The minute she blinked awake was the minute the touch was gone, so fast like it had never even happened at all. Bleary-eyed, she was confused as to why the once unconscious man was sitting on the floor right beside the couch, his body near her head.

"You should be resting," she whispered, the back of her hand groggily going to rub at her eyes. The pain mellowed out, though her fingers itched to relieve more from him when she saw his face twist for a beat. "Y'know, lying down as opposed to sitting on the concrete." 

Derek looked at her, unblinking. "I got your voicemail."

Emerson let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. She pushed herself to sit upright, gesturing for him to take a seat next to her just so she didn't have to look at him head on. It took him a moment, but he complied.

"I'm sorry," she said, staring at her fingers that she was wringing in her lap. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong."

Admitting that she put too much faith in herself, too much faith in her plan, was something she'd come to terms with already. The minute Deucalion said this had all been a lesson was the minute she wished she could take it all back.

"I know why you did what you did," was his response, and in her peripheral she caught him staring right at her, "but I wish you would've let me help you."

She shook her head immediately once the words left his mouth. "You were so busy with Boyd and Erica and Cora," she stressed, the frown deepening on her face, "I didn't want you to worry. I thought— I thought I could handle it."

"Weren't you the one who said we needed to work together to deal with the alpha pack?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, and it made her roll her eyes.

"I did," she muttered, "but I had the chance to save yo— your pack, and Hannah, and I had to take it. If he wasn't such an asshole who valued specifics, it would've worked."

He chuckled, wincing as he did so, and it only made her want to take his pain once more. "He is an asshole," he agreed. There was a beat of silence, the joking tone gone as he added, "you're nothing like him."

Emerson's eyes closed on their own. There it was, the confirmation that he knew about who she was to Deucalion. His words should've been comforting, but they weren't. Her shoulders caved in subtly. "You should hate me," she responded, eyes opening just to stare at the space in front of them in frustration. "For what I did. For who I am. You should be yelling at me right now— why aren't you yelling at me?"

Derek's sluggish hand went to her knee, garnering her attention and making her look at him. She'd seen the look in his eye before, one of genuine understanding, though his smile was something different entirely.

"I could never hate you," he said, "not for this. Not for anything, if I'm being honest."

His heartbeat didn't blip, and to Emerson, that was comfort enough. "Big words for someone who loves calling me a brat," she chuckled, trying to lighten the serious energy that floated into the atmosphere.

Derek hummed. "Oh, I still think you're a brat," he agreed, and Emerson didn't fight the urge to groan in annoyance, "but I can call you a brat and still tolerate you."

"The great and angsty Derek Hale tolerates me," she sing-songed. "That's a high praise, so I'll take it."

"Don't push your luck," he said, though she could hear the smirk in his voice.

She laughed, a hearty one this time, and a part of Derek missed that sound. "You know you smell like citrus," she offhandedly added, and that piqued the man's interest. "Like a lemon air freshener," she paused, giving a little sniff to the air. "It's bitter when you're sick."

"You smell like cherries to me," he responded, treating this as an eye for an eye situation. "Sour ones when you're upset... like that lipgloss you like."

Her eyebrow immediately quirked up. "How do you know what kind of lipgloss I wear?" she asked, having never even taken it out in front of the man— or so she thought.

He only shrugged. "I pay attention."

Something warm swelled in Emerson's chest at the borderline devote way he had just said those very words. I pay attention. I pay attention. It was on a loop in her mind the more she openly stated at him.

The blond realized how close they were and cleared her throat, reclining back against the couch. She was quick in noticing that he followed suit, his head resting against it as he looked ahead.

In the vast silence that filled the loft, she dared to rest of head against Derek's shoulder. "He's gonna win," she whispered out in admittance. "He always does and it's not— it's not fair."

He could hear the whimper she was trying to choke down, and he couldn't stop his hand from reaching for hers. Just to hold; nothing more and nothing less.

This time around, Derek didn't know what he could say to ease her mind. So, he offered her the only words he could muster, pain overcoming his body once more.

"We'll figure it out," he mumbled, the ache in his chest subsiding only subtly as she squeezed his hand. "We always do."

And before Derek drifted off into the expanse of his dreams once more, he heard her whisper out a few words he never thought he would hear from her.

"I missed you."

He was asleep before he could respond, the words on his tongue drying up.

I missed you too.

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆

[ wyn's note ]

soft vibes because after the hell i've beeeeen putting them through? they deserve it :(

thanks for 50k you guys!! absolutely insane and i appreciate you all sm !! xx