Author's note: Not beta'd.

Disclaimer: I own nothing relevant.

Waking up was like trying to swim ashore through an ocean of mud. He heard sounds before he was aware of what they were, and he was almost surprised when he realized they were voices. One that he recognized vaguely, but he couldn't remember from where. His head hurt something terrible, but he made an effort to understand the words being spoken. It sounded … off, somehow. Wrong.

He tried to shake his head to clear the fog from his brain, but that sent a spike of pain through his body, and he must have made some kind of sound because the voices got quiet. At least for a few seconds. Or maybe it was longer, he wasn't sure. He might have blacked out for a while, there. He managed a weak groan, and was rewarded with words. One of the voices he had just heard. The familiar one.

"Derek? You awake?"

A pause.

"Hey, Derek. Come on, man. Wake up."

He wanted to growl. What came out was a croak:

"Stiles." Because it was suddenly very clear who the owner of that voice was.

"Awake, and you recognize me, awesome! Things are looking up. Let's see if all good things do in deed come in threes, and you manage to actually stay awake this time."

At this, he managed to move his head slightly and open his eyes. The light hurt his eyes and he turned his head to the side and saw a big blur that was moving slightly. He blinked a couple of times. The blurry image was sharpening and revealed …

"Stiles."

"Yes, Derek, we've established that already. Me Stiles, you Derek, we in trouble. Get your shit together, man."

And that, if anything, made the fog in Derek's head clear. Just like that. He blinked again and took in his surroundings. He was lying on his side on a clinically white tiled floor in a brightly lit room with two opposing walls, which were as white as the floor he was lying on. The other two walls weren't really walls at all, but see-through. Some kind of transparent thermoplastic, he guessed. Maybe glass. And there was Stiles, on the other side of one of those transparent walls, sitting on the floor and watching him.

What he wanted to know was Where were they? How did they end up here? Who had taken them, and Why? What was this place? How long had they been there? Why was his mouth so dry? And why didn't Stiles' voice sound like it was coming from Stiles' mouth?

What he actually said was: "What?"

Stiles nodded, as if he understood, but sighed and looked resigned as he elaborated:

"We're underground, that much I know. I don't know where, although I suspect we're halfway across the country, judging from the plane trip we had to make to get here. They know about you guys being werewolves and … well, a giant lizard."

Derek's heart skipped a beat. "What– what did you tell them?"

Stiles didn't even flinch at the growl, but he frowned in irritation before he replied: "I didn't tell them anything. They knew already. They came specifically for you guys."

The meaning of that hit Derek like a ton of bricks, and it must have shown on his face because Stiles sighed again and moved to the side so that Derek could see behind him. Stiles was in a space just like Derek's, with another transparent wall separating his space from another one just like it. And there, on the floor in that room, was Scott. Lying on the floor, with his back to them. Scott didn't move. Derek's mind swam and he looked at Stiles again, who only gestured in the other direction, behind Derek. He turned around, and there were more rooms like theirs, all of them separated by see-through walls and most of them empty, but on the floor in the one next to Derek's space was Jackson. Like Scott, he wasn't moving.

Derek's first impulse was to listen for their heartbeats, to smell them, to get to them and see if they were still alive … but he found that he couldn't. The glass prevented it. And that's when he realized what was wrong with Stiles' voice. It was distorted. Looking up, he discovered why. There was a white speaker built into the ceiling, and that's where Stiles' voice came from. That's why it sounded wrong. He couldn't hear the others' heartbeats, he couldn't feel their scent. It felt almost like a physical blow, and confused him more than he would ever admit. He could only smell sterile walls, clean surfaces and himself. The only heartbeat he could hear was his own, even though he could clearly see the others through the glass. It felt wrong, like someone had amputated one of his limbs.

Stiles wasn't aware of this, though, and continued: "They got me and Scott outside the club. Not that we … We were going there for Jackson. I mean, he was going after Danny. I think. I don't even know. Anyway, me and Scott, we were in the alley outside and … They shot some kind of tranquilizer darts at us. Scott fell, I didn't, and I suppose that tipped them off that I was human … Anyway, they got us in a van. A few minutes later, they threw in Jackson as well, and maybe half an hour later, you. So … yeah."

Stiles shrugged. Derek's mind was reeling.

"You said a plane."

"Yeah, eventually we got onto a plane. You guys were out for the count, but we were in the air for hours. When we landed, they put us in another van, and then we were driving for … maybe an hour? They took us from the van into a building, there were only woods around it as far as I could see, and there was an elevator and some corridors and since the building didn't look like it had more than one floor from the outside, I'm pretty sure we're in an underground compound in the middle of nowhere; the base of operations for the evil scientists that kidnapped us. Such a cliché!" He said the last part very loudly.

"Evil scientists."

"Evil scientists, yes. Like in the movies, only worse, because these guys are real. They've been …"

And Stiles stopped talking, blinked and swallowed, looked away. Took a second to compose himself, it seemed, before he looked into Derek's eyes and continued:

"You've been out of it since they threw us in the van, basically. You all have. I didn't … You didn't wake up, you didn't move. They came in there and they took samples of your blood, hair, saliva ... And you never moved. Neither one of you even moved."

Derek didn't have to use his wolf senses to hear the worry in Stiles' voice, but before he could comment on it, Stiles gave a mirthless little laugh and added, almost under his breath: "I felt more useless than ever, which is saying something."

Derek felt as if he should say something, but he'd never been good with words and he needed to be updated on the situation, so after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he sat up straight and asked: "How long have we been here?"

"I don't know. They took my phone, obviously, and it's not like there's a handy calendar around." He noticed Derek's frown and hurried to add: "But I've been fed four times, and I've slept three times. But I think that one of those times was more of a nap? And I'm tired, so I've probably been awake for longer than usual. All in all … I don't know. Few days, maybe? They never turn the lights off."

And Derek looked at Stiles again and noticed the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin and the slight tremor of his voice that even the speaker couldn't hide. It must have been several days, and it must have been horrible for him. Again, Derek felt as if he should say something but Stiles beat him to it:

"How do you feel?"

How did he feel? Derek did a mental inventory. He was weaker than he remembered being, ever, and thirsty – though not as thirsty as he should be if they had indeed been here for days. He told Stiles this. Stiles nodded.

"They had you hooked up to IV's in the beginning. They just removed them a couple of hours ago, actually. Hey, maybe that's why you woke up. They left a few bottles of water by the door."

The door? Derek was ashamed to admit to himself that he hadn't even noticed the door, but there it was. In the middle of one of the white walls, there was a white door. To his defence, it blended in pretty well in the general whiteness that was the wall, but still. He should have noticed it. And now, he also noticed that each of the cells – because it became pretty clear that it was cells they were being held in, even though there were no metal bars in sight – had a door. And there were, in deed, a couple of water bottles by the doors in both his, Scott's and Jackson's cells. Next to them was a white plastic bucket. Why would there –? Oh.

Not trusting himself to stand up, Derek crept towards the door on all fours, snagged the water bottles and returned to his place in the other end; under the speaker, closer to Stiles. Stiles, who seemingly ignored the fact that Derek hadn't stood up (but who definitely noticed anyway), kept ignoring him while Derek drank. He took a cautious sip at first, but when he couldn't taste anything wrong with the water, he downed the whole bottle. He raised an eyebrow at Stiles and held up the empty bottle, and Stiles shrugged and made a vague gesture.

"It's okay, I had some … before."

Derek put the empty bottle down and glanced around the space he was confined in.

"Are they monitoring us?"

Stiles didn't even bother to look at him as he replied. "Oh, most definitely. I think they're even recording you guys being unconscious for their creepy science purposes."

And even though Derek didn't want to ask; didn't want to give them (whoever they were) the satisfaction of knowing he was in the dark about this whole thing, he asked the question that was burning in his brain:

"What do they want?"

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it again. Wet his lips.

"I don't know. It's not like they gave me a tour when we got here." A pause. A sigh. "But since they know that you are … what you are … and considering they took all those … samples or whatever – oh don't give me that look, I looked away! – I'm thinking they're experimenting with werewolf powers. Or something. Hell, that's what I would have done if I had kidnapped a couple of werewolves and a were-lizard and was keeping them in a creepy underground facility."

Derek wanted to ask, needed to ask; Then what about you? But he didn't.

They didn't talk much after that. Stiles mentioned some random facts a few times, and Derek hmm:ed at them, but didn't offer more than a few words himself so Stiles stopped trying. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, though. There was just nothing to be said, especially since someone was probably listening in – and it was comforting to know that there was another person on the other side of the glass. It felt like enough, for the time being.

It couldn't have been more than an hour when Jackson first stirred. Derek and Stiles had taken to sitting with their backs against the glass, back to back, so Derek was the first to notice. Jackson rolled onto his back and groaned, which made Stiles aware of the fact that he was awake.

Derek told himself there was no reason to get excited, and forced himself to stay seated where he was. A few minutes passed, and then Jackson lifted his hand and covered his eyes. He made a sound which sounded suspiciously like a whine and rolled to the side again, curling up in a ball.

"Stiles?"

Scott's voice. Derek turned around just as Stiles, who had also been watching Jackson, whirled around and almost threw himself at the glass separating his cell from Scott's.

"Scott, man, boy am I glad to hear your voice. How are you feeling?"

Scott had dragged himself up in a sitting position and looked … awful. He was pale and was swaying slightly where he sat, and he blinked furiously as he looked around with a frown, trying to take in the situation. His eyes took in the cells, Jackson and Derek, and finally landed on Stiles.

"I feel … hungover."

He reached up and held his head. "And like I've been hit by a truck. Repeatedly. And died."

Stiles let out a laugh that almost sounded real. "Well, buddy, you're the best-looking zombie I've ever seen, hands down."

Scott smiled a little at his friend before he frowned.

"What's going on?"

There was more to that question than it seemed. Scott nodded towards Derek and Jackson's cells, then his gaze flickered towards the doors before he locked eyes with Stiles again.

"Yeah, I'd like to know that too," Jackson said, voice raspy and devoid of his usual bravado.

Derek turned around and gave him a look while Stiles dismissed them both completely, never turning his back on Scott.

"Long story short, we've been kidnap–"

Stiles' voice was abruptly cut off and the unnatural sound of silence filled Derek's cell. He shook his head at first, trying to regain his hearing, before he realized that someone had shut off the speakers. Apparently Stiles had come to the same conclusion, as he turned around and met Derek's eyes. His mouth moved, but no sound could be heard. Stiles looked irritated and glared towards the ceiling over the door, while his mouth kept moving. Derek followed his gaze but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary … besides a tiny little black dot, smaller than a fingernail, where the wall met the ceiling. A camera? He looked, and sure enough, his cell had one as well. As did Scott's, Jackson's, and the others'.

Jackson and Scott looked unsure and confused, and Scott started to stand up, but they all froze when a voice was heard from the speakers.

"You have been brought to this facility because of what you are. We know what you are. We advice that you do what you're told and do not resist us. Thank you."

The voice was void of all emotions, and as they could hear the end of Stiles' sarcastic "-r welcome", it was clear that they could hear each other again. Stiles turned towards Derek and Jackson and made a gesture towards the door, and shrugged:

"Yeah, what they said." He then repeated some of the things he'd told Derek, for Scott's and Jackson's sake. Scott looked queasier with each sentence, while Jackson looked more and more furious. When Stiles was done, Jackson erupted:

"What the hell?! They can't do this to us, it's illegal!"

"Pretty sure they don't care about that, dude", Stiles said with a shrug. "In fact, I'll bet good money that they not only don't care that this is illegal, but laugh about it in the break room."

"What?"

"And they might – and this is just a theory, but I'm pretty confident I'm onto something here – they might actually be demons from hell. All of them. Or the devil."

"What are you –?"

"…and they SMELL!" He turned towards the door and made a rude gesture to the camera, then turned back to Scott and added, more silently: "I just … really don't like them."

Derek opened his mouth to ask, but didn't have time before Stiles visibly deflated.

"There's one more thing", he said. Hesitated. But before any of them had to tell him to continue, he took a breath and went on. "There was a woman. In one of the other cells. She was there when we came here but she didn't … she wasn't … We didn't talk. I don't even think she was all that aware that we were here. She died … later."

He abruptly stopped talking and refused to meet their gazes. Derek was the one who spoke first. "How did she die?"

Stiles licked his lips. "Slowly. She was lying on the floor the entire time. The speakers weren't on, so I couldn't hear her, but I watched her, and she looked like she was in pain. Like she was screaming. She tensed up at times and hit the glass and … yeah, it looked bad. She looked bad. And then she stopped moving. And then, some people came in and carried her out of there. Then someone else came in and cleaned up."

"Are you sure she died, though?" Scott asked.

Stiles nodded, jerkily. "Yeah. She looked straight at me and … didn't close her eyes when she stopped moving." A paus. "It was a while before they came in to get her."

None of them said anything for a while, then Stiles made a face. "They used a hose. When they cleaned up. Like …" He shook his head, but didn't finish the sentence.

"I'm sorry, Stiles." Scott sounded sincere and concerned, and looked at Stiles through the wall, even went so far as to put his knuckles to the glass. Stiles didn't say anything, but Derek could see the ghost of a half-smile on his lips, before he put his hand to the glass in the same spot. Scott beamed at him.

"Right, now when you've proved your love to each other, can we concentrate on what the hell we should do now?" Jackson managed to sound both bored and agitated at the same time, not a small feat. Stiles scoffed and shook his head at Scott.

"Don't listen to him, baby, he's just jealous of our love."

And while Derek was relieved to see Stiles so obviously pleased that his best friend was awake after a long time of uncertainty, he had to agree with Jackson on this one. Getting out was their first priority. He nodded a little.

"Jackson's right. Maybe we could-"

He was interrupted by – not surprisingly – Stiles:

"Surprise surprise, jackasses stick together. Listen guys, what do you think we could do here? They have us locked in cells where there are no handles on the doors, they've kept two werewolves and a lizard-douchebag unconscious for days, they are no doubt listening in to everything we say and are most likely monitoring every move we make – yes, even the bucket –"

At this, Scott and Jackson both glanced around and noticed the water bottles and the bucket. Jackson immediately went to get water for himself while Stiles continued:

"– and you guys just woke up and you wanna hatch a plan? You can't even stand up straight, buddy, what are you gonna do? Faint in their general direction?"

What he didn't say, but what was clear from the tone of his voice and how he was gesturing, was: We're fucked. There's no way out and we are probably going to die here, or worse. It was frightening to see him like that. Scott apparently thought so too, because he fixed his big brown puppy eyes on Stiles and said:

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You know? We'll figure it out. I don't know how or … but we'll … we'll figure it out. You and me and Derek and Jackson. We're all here now." The unsaid you're not alone echoed in the cells, and Stiles drew a shaky breath, nodded unsteadily.

"Yeah, I … I'm sorry. It's just … It's been a long couple of days, or something like that. You know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Derek highly doubted that Scott knew, but it seemed to calm Stiles down somewhat, and strangely enough it managed to actually make Derek feel better, as well.

"Aw, you're so sweet I'm gonna puke." And cue Jackson, ruining the moment.

Stiles didn't even turn around to reply. "I wouldn't waste the water if I were you."

After that, they settled down somewhat. Scott and Stiles sat with their backs against the wall, next to each other with only a glass wall between them, and they were talking – surprisingly, about lots of light stuff. Sometimes, they were even laughing. Derek was sometimes included in the conversation, with a sarcastic remark from Stiles or a question from Scott. Jackson also commented, which was answered with either a scathing remark or completely ignored. Once or twice it evolved into a heated discussion which Jackson lost because Scott took Stiles' side and Derek refused to take any sides. It was … as calm as it can be when one is held prisoner, awaiting an uncertain fate.

None of them were feeling very strong at the moment, though, and it was clear to everyone. Stiles tried to cheer Scott up: "Yeah, well, you look like crap now, but it's nothing a good meal and a good night's sleep can't fix, right?" Scott snorted, amused, but it brought up the topic of food and Derek – for the fourteenth time in the last hour, at least – ignored how hungry he was feeling. Jackson had no qualms about voicing his displeasure, though.

"Yeah, about that – don't they feed us?"

Stiles, who was the only one who was even close to being able to answer their questions about their captors, shrugged. "I've gotten a couple of meals."

It was only a little while after this exchange that they all looked up when they heard a scratching noise from the speakers. The noise was immediately followed by a horrible screeching sound, so loud and shrill that Derek covered his ears out of instinct. It didn't stop, and it hurt! He bent down and shook his head, closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth. It felt as if his head would explode, and he wouldn't be surprised if his ears were actually bleeding. He couldn't do anything but try to make himself as small as possible and press his hands to his ears, with all the power he had. It didn't help much.

He didn't actually notice when it stopped, for the ringing in his ears. When he realized it was over, he panted, carefully removed his hands from his ears and opened his eyes, slowly. He was dizzy and disoriented, and the first thing he saw was Jackson, who was in a similar state in the cell next to him.

"What the hell was that?" Jackson managed.

Derek opened his mouth to reply, smelled something and looked up, towards the door. There, just inside the door, was a paper plate with something that looked like … porridge? … on it, and beside it was two cheese sandwiches, which were absurdly placed on a paper napkin. Jackson had gotten the same food, and by his growl he wasn't pleased with it.

"Guys …?"

Scott didn't sound displeased, nor did he sound pleased. He sounded … scared. Derek looked over.

And realized that Stiles wasn't there anymore.