Author's note: Not beta'd.
Disclaimer: I own nothing relevant.
Scott, predictably, freaked out. He clawed at the door (with his very human fingers; Derek wondered if he, too, was too weak to Change) and hit the glass with his fists. When that didn't work, he yelled at the ceiling, asking questions and making demands. There was no answer, nothing changed. When he reached for the food – no doubt with the intention of throwing it at something – Derek intervened, with a single word:
"Stop."
And Scott, surprising all three of them, did. He turned and looked at Derek with despair in his eyes. Despair, and hope. Hope that Derek would have answers. That Derek would know what to do.
Derek didn't. But he had to do something.
"Don't waste the food. You need to regain your strength."
Even to his own ears it sounded … bad. Too little, too trivial. And Scott had never been good at doing what he was told … Or at least doing what he was told by Derek. But after a moment, Scott gave a short nod and sat down on the floor, with his back against the door, and pulled the food closer. Picked up a sandwich and started to eat. Like he understood what Derek hadn't said: Don't make any trouble right now. We are too weak and too uninformed. We need to bide our time, wait for a weakness we can use to our advantage. We need to be stronger for when we will get Stiles back and get out of here. Because we will.
Maybe Scott did understand. Maybe Derek had underestimated him. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance they could work together and actually escape this place. It seemed like an impossible task at the moment, but he felt a sliver of hope … which disappeared when he turned to the other wall, and found Jackson where he had last seen him; sitting on the floor and looking at his knees.
"Jackson."
Jackson looked up, and tried (and failed) to put his indifferent mask back in place. Derek saw right through it; Jackson was scared. Derek tried the same approach that had worked on Scott:
"Eat your food." So that we will seem pliant and they won't think of us as a threat and we'll get our strength back and-
"First of all", Jackson interrupted Derek's inner monologue, "don't tell me what to do. And secondly; that is hardly food."
It was a strange kind of comfort to know that even held prisoner by evil scientists for largely unknown purposes and scared out of his mind, Jackson was still able to be an annoying ass without much effort. It even made him sit up a little straighter. Derek decided to push a little more. He flashed his eyes (which took more effort than it should have – what had they been drugged with, exactly?) and lowered his voice to an almost-growl:
"Jackson."
Jackson actually sneered at him. "What, Derek, what are you going to do about it? Huff and puff and blow the wall down? I'd like to see you try. You may have bit me but I don't have to do what you tell me."
Teenagers. Derek silently vowed to himself never to have kids, but congratulated himself on making Jackson show a little more fighting spirit – even if it was currently directed towards himself. Scott chose this moment to intervene:
"Why do you always have to be like that, Jackson? If you haven't noticed, we're in this together. Stiles is gone and we don't know what's happening to him, and we don't know what's going to happen to us, and basically there's just a whole lot of things we don't know. But we can't do anything right now. And we have food and water, for now. Stiles said we shouldn't waste the water, and like Derek said, we shouldn't waste the food. Who knows when they'll feed us again, right?"
Derek looked from Scott to Jackson. Neither one of them moved or said anything for several seconds, until Scott took a bite from the sandwich he was holding and added:
"Besides, the sandwiches aren't even that bad.
Derek made a slightly amused noise that was more of an exhale than a laugh, but Scott looked at him and smiled a little. Waved the hand with the sandwich and pointed at the food beside him. Derek shook his head slightly, but went to examine his own food. Sandwiches are sandwiches, you can't really fail with those, so instead he took a tentative spoonful of porridge. It wasn't good, but he'd had worse. He mentally shrugged and settled down to eat. Only when he'd started eating did he notice how much he was starving. He had to actually force himself to chew once in a while, and he felt better with every bite.
Jackson watched them both with disdain, but eventually he walked to the food in his cell. He made a big show out of glaring at it before he tasted it, and letting everyone know exactly what he thought of this so-called "meal". Derek didn't know if it was him riling Jackson up or Scott's little motivational speech, or maybe a combination of the two, but Jackson ate his food, and Derek counted it as a win.
Eating was a quiet affair, not to mention quick. It didn't take long for them to finish what they'd been given, and once they'd finished, none of them seemed to know what to say or do, with the result that none of them said or did anything. Derek avoided looking at the other cells, although he was very aware of the people in them, and instead seated himself as far away from the door as he could, while glaring at the camera above it. Jackson, after a while, did the same. They only broke their stare once; looking the other way when Scott went to use the bucket by the door, and it was more of a need to avoid any unnecessary uncomfortable situations than out of respect for his privacy. When Scott also sat down along the back wall of his cell, they resumed their glaring, and Scott – wordlessly – joined in.
A few minutes passed. Then Derek saw Scott move from the corner of his eye, and glanced over. Scott was bent over, hiding his face in his hands, and his whole body shook. For a horrible moment, Derek thought that he was crying, and panicked because he didn't know how to deal with it.
"Scott?"
Scott looked up at this, and it was suddenly very clear that he wasn't crying. At all. His eyes shone, and when he met Derek's eyes he took a deep breath just to let out a bellowing laugh. At Derek's blank look, his laughter increased.
Derek turned around and gave Jackson a look of disbelief, which Jackson returned with a raised eyebrow.
"There's something seriously wrong with you, McCall", he muttered and shook his head.
That made Scott laugh even more, and when he had finally calmed down enough to form words, he gasped:
"You don't understand … We were sitting there, all of us, identical looks on our faces …"
He gestured towards his own face and dissolved into giggles. Jackson huffed impatiently:
"So?"
Scott was now holding his own stomach, tears of mirth running down his face. He looked his fellow captives in the eye and answered:
"Can you imagine what Stiles would have said if he saw us?"
Jackson muttered something inaudible, but Derek – impossibly – felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in an almost-smile. He could imagine what Stiles would have said. Scott, damn him, didn't miss his almost-smile, and that made him crack up even more (and if his laugh was tinted with hysteria, no one mentioned it – not even Jackson). Derek allowed himself a sound of amusement in Scott's direction before he turned his gaze towards the camera again, resuming his glaring (but not turning it all the way up, this time) and listening to Scott's laughter die down.
Time passed, and since there was no way of telling the time there, it did so slowly. They didn't speak much, just a few words here and there and a biting comment now and then. None of them mentioned their current situation, and none of them mentioned Stiles again. Eventually, Scott lay down on the floor and fell asleep. Derek turned to Jackson and nodded his head.
"Maybe we should … too."
He cringed a bit at his own voice, and tensed in anticipation of the "don't tell me what to do!"'s or "who are you, my mother?"'s that were sure to follow. To his surprise, all he got was a pair of raised eyebrows, before Jackson curled up in the corner closest to Derek's cell and rested his head on his arms.
Derek sat down in the same corner, so he had his back to the wall and could see Jackson in the corner of his eye. It was comforting, in a way, to be so close that they'd have been able to touch if there hadn't been a glass wall between them. This way, he could also keep his eyes on Scott. Scott, who hadn't felt the need to curl up in a corner, but had stretched out on the floor of his cell. Scott, who looked so calm when he slept. It was a little strange to see him like this, considering the situation they found themselves in. But who was Derek to judge? If they could get some rest, that was a good thing. He closed his eyes to shut out the bright lights, and took a deep breath. He was sure he'd be awake as soon as anyone tried to open the door, and thus tried to relax his body and go to sleep.
Of course, he didn't fall asleep at once. He couldn't seem to get comfortable, he was tense and disoriented and worried, and all thoughts in his head jumbled together into a mess he couldn't sort out. He noticed when Jackson nodded off, a while later, when his breaths seemed to even out and he relaxed his posture slightly. More time passed after that, and eventually he fell asleep, more out of exhaustion than anything else.
He didn't sleep well. There were dreams, strange images that he didn't know if he saw for real or not, and he startled awake a couple of time to imaginary sounds. Waking up in the brightly-lit cell was almost worse than the dreams, so he forced himself to shut his eyes again and fall back into an uneasy slumber.
When he woke up for the third or fourth time, an unknown amount of time later, he only intended to glance around the cell to confirm that he was still there, but he noticed movement to his left and opened his eyes fully. When he turned and saw what went on in Jackson's cell, he was awake and up and banging on the glass before he had formed a coherent thought.
Jackson was lying on the floor, motionless. It was clear that he was not just asleep, because two people dressed in white were bent over him, while a third was kneeling on the floor, seemingly taking a blood sample. Had he simply slept, he would surely have woken up by now.
"Hey! Stop it!"
Derek screamed at them and hit the glass, but they didn't even acknowledge him. That's when he realized that he couldn't hear them, either. The speakers were off, which was why he hadn't heard them come in. He hit the glass again, in frustration. No reaction. A part of him wanted to scream obscenities at them, but what good would it to when they couldn't hear him? Another, bigger, part of him wanted to break the glass and jump in there, transform and rip them to pieces, but he knew that he couldn't. It didn't stop him from wishing it, though; wishing it so hard he could almost taste their blood on his tongue.
A minute later, the white-clad people had their samples, and left the room. Jackson was left sprawled out on the floor, unconscious but breathing (Derek couldn't hear it, but he could see Jackson's chest rising and falling, and it calmed him down a little). What had they done to him to knock him out? He'd have to wait for Jackson to wake up before he asked him.
A glance to the other side showed that Stiles' cell was still empty, and that Scott was still sleeping on the floor. Sleeping, or had he also been sedated? Had Derek been sedated, without being aware of it? He ran his hands over his arms, looking for something, anything, to tell him if they'd taken any samples from him recently. Nothing. Either they hadn't, or they had and he had healed already. He couldn't tell.
He couldn't go back to sleep. Everything was bright and sterile and smelled wrong and sounded wrong and was wrong, and he couldn't do anything. He sat there, with his back to the wall, with a sleeping (or possibly sedated) fellow abductee on either side, and he had never felt more powerless.
It must have been a few hours, at least, when Scott woke up. He didn't wake up gradually, but shot upright from his spot on the floor, frantically looking around. When he saw Derek, his face fell. He lifted his eyebrows slightly and said something, and Derek shrugged:
"I can't hear you."
He instantly regretted saying it out loud, as Scott obviously couldn't hear him either from the way he furrowed his brow and glanced to the corner of the room where the speaker was. He saw Scott say something else but couldn't read his lips, but as Scott turned away slightly and didn't make eye-contact, he was sure it wasn't meant for him anyway. He had entertained the thought of voicing a few chosen words of his own, at the situation in general and the people who held them there in particular, but in the end opted not to. Because how would that help them? He didn't disapprove of Scott venting, though, as long as it didn't worsen their situation. A voice inside his head whispered how could this possibly get worse?, but he quickly shut it up, knowing from experience that asking a question like that was tempting fate. And fate wasn't too fond of him on a normal day.
There was nothing for them to do but wait, and it was extremely frustrating. He was still feeling the effects of whatever drug they'd put in his system to be able to bring him here, he had slept badly, and enough time had passed that he was hungry again. He still had some water, but he didn't touch it since he wasn't sure when – or if – he would be given more.
Scott got up after a while and started walking around his cell. A minute or so afterwards, Derek stood up too, stretching his legs. It felt good to stretch, but it made him long for a run. He wanted to run as fast as he could, away from this cell and these people and this whole situation, to just run through the trees with the sounds of the forest surrounding him instead of the low whirring of the lights above. Since he couldn't run, though, he started doing push-ups. He was still much weaker than what was normal for him, but it felt good to feel his body obey him. He concentrated on the simple movements, on his own breaths and his own heartbeat (after all, there wasn't anything else to concentrate on), and he felt himself starting to sweat after some time. He didn't stop. He didn't count, either, he just continued, until his mind was blank and his muscles ached (a good kind of ache, this time).
When he finally stopped, he looked up and to the sides. Jackson still hadn't moved an inch, but Scott was also on the floor, doing push-ups as well. A part of Derek was pleased that he'd follow his example, and Scott looked a bit sheepish when he glanced up after he'd finished and found Derek watching him. Then he gave a little nod, as if to say we're in this together, and started doing sit-ups. Derek watched him for a second, then shook his head slightly and did the same.
They had both finished a basic (for werewolves, that is) workout and had some water – Derek still saved half a bottle, though – when he noticed movement to his left.
Jackson was moving.
He rolled onto his side and winced, put his hand to his head and said something – all without opening his eyes. Not getting a reply, he eventually opened his eyes. He squinted at the bright lights overhead, and shielded his eyes with his hand. Then he searched for the others. It seemed to take him a while to focus, but eventually his eyes locked onto Derek, and he once again said something. Derek shook his head and pointed at the ceiling. Jackson looked irritated and said something (that looked suspiciously like "give me a fucking break") before he pushed himself up on his elbows and scooted back so his back was once again against the wall. Then he turned to Derek and mouthed, slowly:
"What. The. Hell. Happened?"
Derek debated whether to engage in a game of charades or try to communicate with speech, and swiftly decided on the second option. He mouthed slowly, too, so Jackson could read his lips:
"They took samples from you." He gestured to his own arm. "Samples. Blood."
Jackson winced and looked anything but happy, and Derek continued:
"You were out. What happened?"
Jackson shook his head. "I don't know. I was sleeping. I woke up now. Head hurts like …" A grimace, and something that was probably a curse.
"Did they go into the room? Did you see them? Hear them?"
Again, Jackson shook his head. "Nothing. Just …" He paused and frowned. "Maybe … There was a smell."
"What kind of smell?" Derek spoke out loud now, but didn't care.
A shrug. "I don't know." Then something Derek didn't understand.
"What?"
Jackson opened his mouth to repeat himself, and suddenly the speakers were back on, and Derek was ashamed to admit that he flinched at the sudden sound:
"- might have imagined it."
"Hey! The speakers are back on!" That was Scott's voice, sounding relieved, and when Derek briefly turned around he saw Scott with a smile on his face.
Jackson ignored him, and said (possibly for a third time):
"Like I said, I was asleep. Maybe there was no smell, maybe I just imagined it."
He looked down as he was talking, as if imagining things was something to be ashamed of. Derek gave a brief thought of his own nightmares and then something clicked in his mind. Sleeping, and maybe a smell. Gas.
"Gas", he said aloud. Jackson looked up. "Maybe it was a gas. You were really out of it – there were three of them in there with you, taking your blood."
Jackson rubbed his arm and looked anything but pleased, but didn't say anything. Scott did, though:
"What? What happened?"
Derek dragged a hand over his face and prepared to explain it, when without warning they were suddenly hit by that horrible screeching sound again. Derek instantly curled up and tried to protect his ears, gritting his teeth against the pain in his skull. He was just as paralyzed as the last time, but this time he thought he heard Scott scream, and with much effort he lifted his head and forced his eyes open (when had he closed them?), just in time to see the door to his cell close. Something was by the door. Food? There was no time to think about it, because the door to the cell to his right was open, and there were people there. The sound was impossible to escape and there were no thoughts in his head and he was in pain and it wouldn't stop why wouldn't it stop but there were people in the cell next to his and there hadn't been people there in a while why were they there now?
Suddenly they were gone and the screeching stopped, and Derek blinked against the lights. The sudden silence made the ringing in his ears almost as painful as the screeching had been just moments ago, but there was also something else. Jackson and Scott were groaning and Derek himself was panting as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.
The people … had they been there? But they'd disappeared, just like that! Had he imagined them? He looked towards the other cell, but the door was closed again. Only …
He spotted him at the same time as Scott did; lying prone on his stomach on the floor of his cell, face turned away. Scott drew in a breath, and Derek's heart skipped a beat.
Stiles was back in his cell. And he wasn't moving.
