Chapter 7: 4- Scott's plan

Both Scott and Hazel were in his room, talking about Scott's visit to Derek's a few minutes earlier.

That's when Stiles barged in, practically vibrating with energy. "What did you find? How did you find it? Where did you find it? And yes, I've had a lot of Adderall, so let's just get on with it!"

Scott held up his lacrosse stick, its surface marred with deep scratches. "I found something of Derek Hale's."

Stiles' eyes lit up. "Are you kidding me? What?"

"There's something buried on his property. I could smell blood."

Stiles blinked, torn between excitement and dread. "That's awesome! I mean, terrible. Definitely terrible. Whose blood?"

Scott stood, his voice heavy with certainty. "I don't know. But when we do, your dad nails Derek for the murder. Then you help me figure out how to play lacrosse without... changing. Because I'm not sitting out of that game."

He tossed the scratched lacrosse stick onto the bed, where Hazel sat quietly. She frowned, her stomach churning with unease as the two boys hurried out of the room.

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Later that evening, the trio walked into the hospital. Stiles pointed towards a door. "Alright, there it is."

Scott nodded. "Okay." He stepped inside, leaving Stiles and Hazel waiting by the information desk.

Stiles shifted nervously, catching sight of Lydia Martin sitting nearby. His fingers twitched as he debated whether to approach her.

"Oh no," Hazel muttered under her breath as Stiles moved to lean against the wall near Lydia, flashing a shaky grin.

"Hey, Lydia. You probably don't remember me. I sit behind you in biology. Anyway, I always felt like we had this kind of connection. Unspoken, of course. Maybe we could... I don't know... get to know each other better?"

Lydia blinked, pulling an earbud out and smiling faintly. "Sorry, what? I didn't catch any of that. Was it worth repeating?"

Hazel buried her face in her hands, trying not to cringe too visibly.

Stiles stammered, his face flushing. "Nope. Not at all. Sorry. I'll just—" He grabbed a magazine and sat down a few seats away, flipping through it nervously.

Hazel peeked over his shoulder and grimaced. "Is that... about vaginas?" she mouthed, horrified.

Before Stiles could answer, Jackson strode into the waiting room, and Lydia immediately rose to greet him. Meanwhile, Scott returned, his expression grim.

"The scent was the same," Scott said flatly.

Stiles shot to his feet. "Are you sure?"

Scott nodded. "Yes."

Hazel's voice was barely above a whisper. "So Derek really did bury the other half of the body on his property?"

Scott exhaled sharply. "Which means we have proof he killed her."

"Then we use it," Stiles said confidently.

"How?" Scott demanded.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Tell me the truth: Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek or because he said you couldn't?"

Scott's tone hardened. "There were bite marks on the legs, Stiles. Bite marks."

"Alright," Stiles relented. "Then we'll need a shovel."

Hazel's face paled. "Yeah, no. You two have fun with that. I'm not digging anything up."

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The next morning, Scott called Hazel to meet him outside Derek's apartment. When she arrived, police cars surrounded the area. She stood by Scott, watching as Derek Hale was escorted out in handcuffs.

Derek locked eyes with Scott, his lips curling into a sarcastic grin as he was shoved into the back of a police car. Hazel's stomach dropped.

"You made a mistake," she muttered.

Scott didn't respond, staring at the ground as Stiles emerged from the woods, casually sauntering over to the police car.

Both siblings shook their heads frantically at him.

"Don't do it," Hazel hissed under her breath, miming a throat-slash gesture. "Don't—"

And Stiles opened the car door, sliding in beside Derek.

Scott groaned. "He's dead."

Hazel pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yep."

Seconds later, Sheriff Stilinski stormed over, yanking Stiles out of the car. Hazel hurried over, wrapping an arm around Stiles and giving the sheriff a wide, nervous smile.

"Heyyyyy, Sheriff! So... uh... any updates on what's going on?"

The sheriff gave her a withering look. "Yeah. Your friend here decided to have a conversation with a murder suspect inside a police car."

Stiles groaned. "We were looking for Scott's inhaler."

"Which he dropped when?"

"The other night," Stiles admitted.

"The night you told me you were alone, and Scott was at home," the sheriff pressed.

"Yes."

Realization dawned on Stiles. "No! Wait—crap."

"So you lied to me," the sheriff snapped.

"Depends on your definition of lying," Stiles muttered.

"How about not telling the truth?"

Stiles hesitated. "Well, I define it as reclining your body in a horizontal position."

The sheriff glared. "Get the hell out of here."

"Absolutely!"

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The pair retreated to Stiles' jeep, where Hazel sat in the backseat while Stiles and Scott argued in the front.

"I can't figure out how I'm playing in the game tonight." Scott complained.

"You're going to have to accept this, Scott." Stiles replied.

"No, I can't!" Scott's frustration boiled over as he slammed his fist into the car ceiling. "Pull over!"

Stiles swerved to the side of the road as Scott stumbled out, grabbing a bag from the back. Stiles swerved to the side of the road as Scott stumbled out, grabbing a bag from the back.

"You kept the wolfsbane?" Scott snapped.

"What else was I supposed to do with it?" Stiles questioned.

Scott's eyes flashed yellow. "Stop the car!"

Stiles' eyes widened as he slammed on the brakes, pulling the car to a screeching halt. "Okay, okay!" He stammered. Jumping out of the driver's seat, he grabbed his bag, pulled out the wolfsbane, and hurled it into the woods with all his strength.

Hazel stepped out of the car, crossing her arms as she eyed the forest uneasily. "Alright, we're good. You can—" Stiles froze mid-sentence when he turned around, realizing Scott was no longer there.

Hazel's brows shot up as she turned too. "Scott?" She called, her voice tinged with worry.

They both scanned the area, tension rising as Stiles nervously yelled into the night. "Scott?"

There was no answer.

Panic creeping in, the two scrambled back into the car. Stiles gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he sped off. Meanwhile, Hazel sat stiffly in the backseat, her eyes darting between the trees outside the window.

Stiles fumbled for his phone, hastily dialing.

The voice on the other end answered sharply. "Stiles, you know you're not supposed to call me when I'm on duty."

"I know, I know, but this is important!" Stiles blurted out.

His father sighed. "What is it now?"

"Uh..." Stiles hesitated, glancing at Hazel, who rolled her eyes. "I just need to know if you've had any... odd calls."

"Odd?" The sheriff repeated, his tone flat.

"Yeah, like reports of... I don't know... an odd person or maybe a... dog-like individual roaming the streets." Stiles stammered, trying to sound casual.

Hazel groaned, slumping back in her seat.

There was a long pause on the line before the sheriff spoke. "Stiles, I'm hanging up now."

"No, no, wait! Wai—wai—wai—wait!" Stiles pleaded.

"Goodbye, Stiles." And with that, the call ended.

Stiles let out an exasperated groan, slamming the phone down as Hazel leaned forward with a dry tone. "Great plan, genius. That really got us somewhere."

S/T: I know you're sad and tired you've got nothing left to give.

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