Disclaimer: These characters are not my own, their personalities are taken from Teen Wolf (an MTV production) by no means do I claim any ownership.
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A haze thick as mountain fog blurs her vision to the point of darkness. Voices, quiet whispers of mistakes and hushed cursing fill the room. Bound by wrists and ankles, her head hangs down with defeat; the unmistakable scent of rotting flesh consuming her every breath. Utter weakness of her body and mind leave her numb to the pain of which she would be sure to feel were she ever to be found. In low whimpers she occasionally mutters his name, each time she is met with the harshness of a fist to her jaw or a an object to the skull. The taste of copper fills her mouth, dried and new blood combing with her silvia… She's done nothing, spoken to no one yet they managed to find her; the alphas. No, she's not a monster. There is no venom crawling through her veins, no razor sharp teeth emerging from her jaw, she is human. They need her as bait, for /him/. 'He will come' they say, something she once believed for herself. But now hope only seems to deceive her…No one is coming.
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Derek's brow glistens with a thin sweat, his feet carrying him back and forth across the foreclosed homes wooden floor. It's been too long she could be dead, he thinks, while both his hands rise to scrub down his weathered face. Their voices echo in full volume around the room; off each wall and against his ear drums. For as long as possible he ignores Stiles' snide remarks and Scott's hushing tone...
"Are we going to just sit here..? Derek-" Stiles rises from his seat with a hand extended, nearly pleading. "We can't just leave her there."
In an instant Derek forces his way around Scott, pinning all one hundred and forty-seven pounds of Stiles against the wall by his underarms. His voice is deep and threatening, but only because he is aware how right Stiles is. "Shut up, Stiles. We can't just go marching in there..." He releases him; only the sound of his body slumping against the wall is heard for the next several seconds, "They'll kill her. They'll kill us! Don't you get that?"
Stiles remains on the floor, his left hand rubbing gently against the opposite shoulder. Derek, whether it was an accident or not, had nearly broken the skin around his arms leaving a sore feeling that was unmatched by any sting he had ever felt. Stiles' eyes follow Scott and Derek around the room though he tones out their conversation with his own thoughts...
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Tegan had been ripped right from Stiles' finger tips. He had her, he could of saved her...if he wasn't so weak. It haunts him every second of every day that she's missing; the look on her screaming face when she was dragged by the heels across the tiled floor, her nails dragging along to try and stop it. Derek didn't have a choice, not really. If he had Stiles assumes he would have grabbed Tegan and not himself.
Tegan Hill was just a year older than he and Scott, having transferred from some backwoods southern state to California; she ended up at Beacon Hills. Unfortunately she had inadvertently been introduced to Derek a few months ago, and for the first time Scott and Stiles were bewildered with Derek's actions. Derek took to her like a moth to flame, the two immediately becoming found of each other; despite Derek's age difference. Once again, Stiles was felt like he was a second choice. Only Tegan was more than aware of a sort of connection she and Stiles shared. He was weird and she liked it, even enjoyed his awkward stumbling and jumbled sentences filled with nerves. He made her smile, and that was a hard job.
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And now? The three had no plan. No sense of just how entrapped they had become in the Argent's plan...