The place was surrounded by a massive chain link fence, generously topped in barbed wire, draped over like a sinister vine.
He couldn't decide if lighting would add to the ambiance, or take away from the whole "haunted house of horrors bring the family" vibe he was getting or not. The sheer energy from the complex had last night's Reese's cups threatening cession.
Stiles' stomach managed to heave itself up from the ground and he swallowed down the bile that had risen up in his throat. A female guard firmly prompted him forward. Her name tag read Kira. Her features were sharp and the flint around her eyes jagged, but the creases in her cheeks kind. She offered him a tight smile from behind the lines.
Once inside, it was all up to him.
Gate three clanged behind him like the lid to a coffin sealing a corpse's fate.
This was it.
Before him stretched a labyrinth, the like of which held no equal among the states.
Eichen Prison, rumored to be one of the circles of Dante's hell.
For the next few months, home sweet home.
The remarks about his looks might just be dirt over the grave to the funeral that awaited him. Hell, one guard had already come on to him today. If he heard one more time that this was 'No place for angels'...
Good thing he wasn't one.
He was immediately accosted by two guys right of the bat. One of the men had an eyepatch and his hair was growing out of some sort of military cut that had seen better days. Still, he was rather handsome in a roguish "I'll hold up your carriage and relieve you of your valuables" way. He planted himself at Stiles' right, with his companion on Stiles' left, boxing him in.
"What are you in for, kid?" Asked Eyepatch.
"Petty theft," Stiles snapped. He tried to read the guy's name tag. The hell kind of name was Buckeye?
"Well, shit. We've got a comedian!" Buckeye said, laughing and slapping his knee.
"No you're not -" Ridley? Maybe that wasn't an e? Riply? Could be a P? Ripple?
"Look, kid, you're in for three gas station robberies and a high-speed chase." Ridley declared shaking his head sagely.
"No way! I actually- " Stiles tried to protest.
Buckeye insisted. "That's your story, got it?"
"Really, I didn't-" Stiles fumed.
"Shhhh" Ridley interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. "Trust me."
"Trust you? We just met!" Stiles countered waving his arms wildly around.
"Now you're catching on." Ridley patted his shoulder. "There are some things you should know."
"I won't be anyone's prison bitch," Stiles spit out before he could think the better of it. He could feel his cheeks flushing.
"Right kid. The term is the wife, and with good reason." He bumped shoulders with Stiles. "A nubile young lad such as yourself ought to make an excellen' 'bride'."
"What about the guy from cell block -4?"
"That's not good enough for our lil boy, honey boo." Buckeye met Ridley's gaze, eyes narrowed. "Jesus man, the kids lanky all over and that jump suit's not helping! The damn thing's hanging off him like laundry on a line." He's too pretty is what Buckeye meant.
"The only one I can think of is block 6," Ridley recommended.
"You sure?" Buckeye looked at him skeptically.
Ridley asserted."Positive."
"Hey, this is me you're talking about!" Stiles pouted.
"Exactly! He's perfect."
"Mr. Perfect's beau also ripped that dude's throat out, man-" Buckeye revealed.
"Nah, it was several men." Ridley corrected.
Stiles asked."I'm sorry, who?"
"This psycho chick. She -" Buckeye started to explain but Stiles interrupted again.
"No, not her. The guy."
"Yah ask the important questions! That'd be Peter. He's the Alpha."
"The Alpha?" He tried plying for more information. Werewolves. Smashing. Well, this was a supernatural prison, so that ought to be expected.
"One of them." Ridley pointed out.
"The only one worth noting," Buckeye joked back.
"Don't let Deucalion catch you saying that." Ridley cautioned.
"Right. Cause I'm so scared of Mister 'may I have another crumpet'." Buckeye mocked.
"Why is he in? Peter, I mean." Stiles questioned.
"Story is..." Ridley leaned in, casting a look around the place.
"Story's what?" Stiles repeated.
Buckeye swallowed. "He killed his sister."
"Right then."
"Chance of meeting anyone less homicidal?"
"Oh no, it's not that he's homicidal."
"Its that - "
"Nevermind." Buckeye broke in as though they didn't have time for this.
"Look, kid."
"You'll find I'm very much not a kid," Stiles retorted.
"Whatever. The point is that you're slight as a prison bar. Which means they're going to be on your ass like wind banging a screen door in a hurricane."
"Well," Stiles drawled. "What do you -in your infinite wisdom- suggest?"
"Find yourself a husband fast."
"Haven't we already been through this?" Stiles challenged.
"No, I have," Ridley broke in. "Think I'm with Bucky here just for his good looks?" He jested.
"Good one."
"I know."
Stiles sighed. This was supposed to help him how?
"Stick with us for now and you should be fine. We'll weed out some of the lesser leches and get you a real nice thorn, Lil' Rose." The eye-patched man professed.
"That just fills me with confidence," Stiles murmured to himself.
"That analogy kind fell apart there. I give it a 5 out of 10," Ridley observed.
"Ridley, did I ask for your sass? It's not my fault that all we have are the classics." Buckeye lamented.
He gestured to Stiles. "Look at the material I'm working with."
"I think comparisons to Pearl might have been better. It's going to cost us a lot to keep him safe. I told you not to read that book anyway it always makes you sad."
"Nah, Rids, you're a softie don't even lie. Besides, he's got the sin bit down. He ain't here for no reason."
"True." The shorter man admitted with a soft grin.
"Betcha he can sin with the best of em, right?" Buckeye elbowed Stiles.
"Well, I'm young and impressionable. Who's to say who might corrupt me?" Stiles licked his lips and fluttered his lashes.
"Oh, my heart's a-flutter." Buckeye placed a hand on his chest.
"Oh my, indeed," Ridley repeated. "I think the question is more who you might corrupt."
"Honey, our ill baby flower is going to have them all wrapped around his pinky and thinkin' he speaks honeydew, when we're through." Buckeye beamed.
"That strangely made more and yet less sense." Stiles took a step back at their matching grins. They both threw their arms over his shoulders, ignoring his reluctance..
"Come on now, tell daddy Buckeye all."
"I'm sorry, but do you mean grandpa ?" Stiles gazed balefully at him before dissolving into laughter with Buckeye, at Ridley's false hurt.
"It's decided we're keeping em."
"Buh he-"
"Perfect. I couldn't agree more, love." Ridley interrupted.
Stiles needed all the help he could get. Besides, there were worse sorts.
He smirked. "So spill. I think it's time you gave me the rundown."
"Damn straight."Buckeye broke in. "Told yah' that he knows what's important. Our gem does like that in a guy."
"That's why you married me." Ridley quipped.
"Oh, I thought it was for the extra Jello cups," Buckeye shot back "Thief." He turned to Stiles confidingly. "This shit here used to steal em from me. The bastard."
"From your defenseless self, a major feat I'm sure." Stiles replied.
"Exactly."
"You don't even like chocolate or those garlic rolls." Ridley sniped. "Don't get him started on the garlic rolls," the slighter of the two warned Stiles.
"Given me trouble all my life that has. Hard for a fella to like something he's allergic to." Buckeye grumbled with a shrug jostling all of them.
"Right shame," Stiles assured.
"First things first, don't drop the soap or you'll end up stuck with fools like this." Ridley japed.
"Well, that I knew." Stiles confirmed.
"Hey, that's enough of that." Buckeye protested. He traded another look with Ridley. The two seemed to function on the same radio frequency of psychic messages. It's wasn't quite the soulful thing Scott had going on with-... Stiles clenched his fist then lets it fall loosely to his side. Best not to dwell on that.
The guys noticed his darkening mood and Buckeye spoke up. "C'mn we'll give you the two-cent tour." He gestured down the hall with an infectious grin.
"Not like I have anything better to do," Stiles confessed.
"Could always sit quietly and contemplate the transgressions that brought you here, or dramatically break down and find Jesus and join group therapy to talk about your abusive childhood that drove you down this hellish highway." Ridley suggested.
Stiles shook his head, smiling wryly. "That would involve me having regret."
"Fair enough. Onwards ho it is then," Ridley stated.
They made their way down the hallway and into a much larger eating area littered with tables. Some sat in clusters and other lingered on the edges. A few slunk around just beyond Stiles' line of sight.
"Well, welcome to our lovely Cafeteria. As you can tell, it's very five star." Buckeye motioned to the slop on the trays.
"Least food's free." Ridley ruffled his dirty blond hair.
"Included with the price of admission," Stiles said. Ridley and Buckeye howled at that.
Before they could really get too much beyond the space, a group of guys intercepted them.
"Oh look, another welcoming committee." Bull's eye quipped.
The men fanned out some. A few of them didn't look much older than Stiles. The twins with matching sneers in front of him, appeared especially young. So, jerks. Which meant easy to goad. Nice.
"Come to greet the newbie?" Ridley asked.
"Huh," Stiles articulated. "Where's this Deucalion you were telling me about?" Stiles frowned, miming he smiled and clapped his hands together. "I get it! You guys must be the cheer squad?"
The buff men glared harder, eyes flashing. Wolves. Swell.
"Nice light show. Do you come with pompoms as well?" Stiles said before he could stop himself. Great idea! Antagonize the unknown enemy who can rip into human flesh without breaking a sweat. Stellar job Stiles, do speak again!
"No." Snarled one of the twins.
"I don't see him yet. Can we sing the chant?" Ridley winked conspiratorially.
"What chant?" Stiles questioned gleefully.
Buckeye held up his fingers. 1, 2, 3.
"Hey Duke, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind." Buckeye broke into song.
"Hey Dukey!" He finished.
Ridley joined him for the finale with vocals like a screeching eagle going in for an attack on the last two words. Stiles wasn't sure if he should be impressed or horrified. Maybe both.
"It's a summoning spell." Ridley clarified.
"He's been avoiding us after all the work we put into the rhyme and everything." Bullseye admitted, frowning.
"Not very nice of him," Stiles quipped.
"You're exactly right" Ridley echoed.
"Shove off the fresh meat." The wolf to the right challenged.
"Yeah," sniped another with close cropped hair. "Ethan wants to play."
"Ethan can play elsewhere." Buckeye warned.
"Gentlemen." The word rang out echoing in the drafty hallway. The speaker's tone scalding, as freshly made tea is to the tongue. A fairly attractive man, whose every motions were crisp and precise like a king, stepped at the head of the group, with a pair of sunglasses perched on his face. "No need to be rude."
"Yeah." Ridley broke in.
Stiles could feel the tension in the man's body despite the lazy fair quality to his voice.
"Proper men understand that no means no." Ridley waved his hands about and the Wolves gazes immediately snapped to follow the movement. Stiles hid a smile. Predictable.
"Your boys are proper, ain't they, Deucalion?" All the while, Buckeye shifted Stiles more between them, looking about to make sure none of the other bystanders who gathered like moths to a flame were going to make a move.
"Just as you say."
"See, I kinda doubt that, but here's the thing. This boy here's not for you."
"Oh?" The Englishman's skepticism was tangible. "I know he isn't yours."
Then whose is he?
"Isn't that right, pretty thing?" He addressed Stiles.
The young man swallowed, knowing it would be interpreted as nerves, not him trying to bite back his anger before he killed this English fucker. Stiles was nobody's thing. Never again. He had vowed before the light of the full silver moon, enemies at his heels. Those weren't the kind of promises you break.
For a moment he was back there, and the spirit of Eichen rose within him ready to turn his anger from a wave to a raging tsunami. His body thrummed with energy swaying with the shadows on the walls. Shit, if he didn't get this under control... Stiles looked down, concealing his eyes.
"Come now." Deucalion beckoned Stiles like an errant dog.
Wow, the guy was still talking? Just how much did he like his voice? Hello, is 'conceited' in residence? Why would he ever go anywhere with this guy? Yeah sure, to an outsider he might have seemed impressive. In numbers.
"I don't come for just anybody." Excellent rebuttal, Stiles, that will show him.
Deucalion clearly thought he was not just anybody. If that smile was anything to go by it said, 'oh you poor misguided lamb let me show you the way'. It wasn't helping that he felt as rotten as stained milk gone sour to Stiles' senses. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Yeah Duke here scored high on the bad-wrong factor. Stiles could still sense the violence of past fights lingering in the stone beneath his feet, calling to him with increasing fever.
Maybe he could still use his abilities? No time like the present.
"Darling boy, I can take you places. Just follow me," Deucalion cajoled.
Stiles swayed with power. He just managed to pass it off as flattered.
"I know this is forward of me," Stiles simpered, looking up at him through his lashes demurely. Hook.
Deucalion raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" The man extended the word, looking Stiles up and down suggestively.
"I have this thing for people telling me what to do-" He bit his lip. Line.
Deucalion stepped closer, gaze falling on Stiles lips. Sinker.
"-and it's that I don't fucking like it!" He snarled viciously. "So paws off, bub." Deucalion actually took a step back, to the shock of the other inmates and Stiles' satisfaction. So the wards hadn't dampened everything. Good to know.
"Right." Stiles shook himself grinning brightly. "Seems like you have somewhere to be." Stiles made a shooing motion.
Deucalion's brows furrowed.
"Well go on then. What are you waiting for? By all means, the nearest elementary school is about twenty miles away."
Deucalion ignored the boy's nonsense. "I'm not asking."
"Oh, so you're offering? Cause I haven't seen you bring anything to the table here. Like candy, or wifi, or a get out of jail free card? Which brings me back to my point. Just out of curiosity did you happen to own a white van before your detainment? Cause soccer mom, you are not. Not that there's anything wrong with soccer moms. I mean, besides the obvious like 'geez no soy, triple macchiato, no whip grain blend' vibe you have going on. I mean. The heck is that. Still you might not look bad in yoga pants. That's not to say you'd look particularly good either." Stiles paused to breathe. When in doubt, ramble your way out.
"He's right," a cultured, distinctly masculine, and distinctly pleased voice smoothly said from Stiles' right, as if the mention of fashion had manifested into an avatar into physical being.
"I am?" Stiles rhetorically asked, interested in luring this third party into the light. I know you're behind me, you suave-sounding motherfucker. Come out come out wherever you are. All around Stiles, the silence was telling. You could hear a cell door clang shut from five levels above. Even Buckeye and Ridley might as well have turned to stone. Whoever this was, he was big news.
"Pink would look simply ghastly on you. Almost as bad as arrogance." The individual divulged. "Isn't that right, Sweetheart?" He addressed Stiles.
Ha, as if! He stifled a snort. The new pet name was still an improvement. "Charmer." Stiles teased.
"It's been known to happen."
Deucalion's pose went ramrod straight. Bad in a fight, for you want to be loose and flowing. Not tense as a bow string, Stiles noted.
Deucalion smiled gamely. "Hale."
"I don't mind if you do." The new man leered. His body wasn't muscled in that way of a sculpted figure. No, he was hewn, pulled roughshod form the mold, not finely chiseled concrete that had been worked away at in some nice indoor gym. His physique spoke of survival or necessity a toned in such a nature that the muscles were visible bunched and straining beneath the confines of his jumpsuit. Hale didn't move like a king. He was a king. The sheer confidence in his every step was magnetizing. He didn't just monopolize the room; he encompassed it.
Stiles tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Hmm. Once in clear view, the man all but gave a mocking half-bow to Stiles. He did, however, offer Deucalion a two-fingered salute. Stiles felt his answering curtsy was most appropriate.
"Hilarious," Deucalion dryly said, making it clear that he found the man anything but.
"Who is that?" Stiles whispered to Ridley.
"I'm Peter," the new man answered instead, great shoulder muscles rippling as he turned, clever eyes clearly assessing Stiles.
Then he did what is by far sworn by prisoners everywhere, and talked of in reverent tones to this day over toilet water wine, to be one of the scariest things ever witnessed.
He smiled.
Sharp teeth glimmered like well-cut diamond, though twice as shatterproof.
Stiles gasped when their eyes locked, spellbound. His blood sung beneath his skin, lamenting the distance from Peter. He needed to be close, like peanut butter needed to be with jelly, or foxes in with the hens, or air in lungs. The refraction of blue brought out the brilliant garnet in those eyes. Stiles' heart didn't so much as attempt to slide from his chest, as it did just plunge over a cliff directly into to oblivion. The floodlights above, all but casting a breathtaking glow across Peter's features, sweeping them from harrowed to gleeful in the way of wolves before a kill.
"You must be Stiles."