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Whispers in the Dark

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Hera sat in her car, parked in the driveway of her uncle's house for the sixth time that week, trying to muster up enough energy to get out. Two weeks ago, her uncle Al told her there were doctor residencies open that could lead to a permanent job because she had been looking for a job. Hera stared at her reflection in her rearview mirror; she saw that her brown skin was dull from exhaustion.

Hera sluggishly stepped out of the car into the fresh air. She walked to the front door, fumbled with her keys, until the door opened revealing her uncle. He pushed open the screen door, letting her in.

"Hera, the hospital called you left your house keys and took the hospital's," he told her. "Again."

Hera looked at her uncle tiredly.

"I'll return them after I get some sleep."

She sighed, pulling off her white coat. Which she also forgot to leave at the hospital. She took her long black twists out of the bun she had it in for 13 hours and headed to the stairs.

"You can't sleep just yet," he said firmly. "I need your help in the basement."

That's when Hera realized that there were two boys and three girls in his living room with worried looks on their faces.

"Everyone, this is my niece Hera," he said. "Hera, this is Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Malia and Kira."

"Have you come to ruin my night?" Hera asked in a deadpan voice, staring at them.

"Hera, Scott, come with me," Deaton said, ignoring her comment.

Scott and Hera followed her uncle to the basement of the Deaton household. The bright lit basement displayed Derek Hale on a wooden table. With a look, she could tell his breathing was labored; he wasn't healing as he should.

"Werewolf?" She asked her uncle, who nodded to confirm her question.

"We're having trouble getting his body to heal," Deaton said.

"We've tried to start the healing process, but it doesn't seem to be working," Scott said.

Hera rubbed her forehead before taking her long braids and placing them back into a pony tail.

"What exactly are you telling me?" she asked, not looking at them but at Derek. "What happened?"

"We're not entirely sure; we know that he was shot by someone who we thought was dead," Scott said. "Deaton said there would be something that you can do for him."

"We've done everything we can to help him by removing the bullet, trying to start his healing by breaking a few bones," Deaton said.

"You're asking a simple doctor to help a dying werewolf, who is preventing her from sleeping," Hera said. She placed her ear on his chest, trying to listen to his heartbeat. She moved her head so that her ear was near his mouth, listening to his breathing. There were a few minutes of silence before Hera straightened up, mumbled that she would be back and left the basement.

 

She passed the four in the living room and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Unfortunately, she had not unpacked yet because of her optimism of finding a nice loft to stay in. Hera needed to find those vials that could save the dying werewolf. She searches several boxes before she finds what she was looking for.

When she came back downstairs, both Stiles and Lydia were standing near each other, whispering quickly until Lydia stopped her.

"What are you?" she asked in quietly, stepping closer as she balled her hands into her fists. "I can hear death around you."

Hera turned around to face the four, curiosity burned into their eyes. She raised an eyebrow — they've been talking; Hera gave a small laugh.

"Just a doctor, trying to save your dying friend," she said. None of them spoke as she turned back around to continue her path to the basement.

"His heartbeat is getting way too slow, Hera," Deaton said. "What took you so long?"

"I had to get this," Hera said, holding up a small vial of red liquid. "It was buried in my things."

"Is that blood?" Scott asked.

"It's what I think it is, isn't it?" Deaton asked her as he handed her a package syringe. Hera placed the vial and syringe down and pulled on gloves.

"His shirt needs to be off," Hera said. She placed the needle head into the cap of the vial as Scott ripped off Derek's shirt.

"Hera, he will be defenseless for weeks, maybe months," Deaton warned her.

"What kind of blood is that?" Scott asked Deaton.

"It's mine," Hera answered, holding up the needle. "You're his alpha — do you want me to save him?"

"Yeah, do it."