Stiles and Scott were each sitting on their own cot in their cells at the police station. Even though they were facing one another, they barely looked up. They were just too stunned by the turn of events. Neither of them had ever thought they would end up in prison… ever. The cops that brought them to the cells told them they were lucky they weren't being tried as adults. Stiles supposed they were lucky in a sense, but hardly any part of this situation could be considered lucky at all. Tomorrow they would be shipped off to some institution filled with actual criminals.

All he could think about was the hurt in his Dad's eyes, how it made him feel like he was the absolute worst son a father could have. Stiles knew well enough that this incident would cost the sheriff his position and maybe his entire career. How stupid could they have been, stealing a police vehicle? At the time he didn't even think about the backlash his own father would get. Being the sheriff's son he just automatically thought of ways to help involving his Dad's work, but now he realized how selfish it really was.

He was also the one who came up with the plan in the first place. Sure, Scott went along with it, but it was his idea to kidnap Jackson. People might have been killed if they left him alone and he made another transformation, but Stiles wasn't in the mindset to consider that aspect. Earlier, Scott was let out to call his mom. He didn't even want to think what that conversation would be like. Scott was the only person she had in her life and now he was going to be taken away from her.

Scott was the first to break the silence.

"Stiles… how are we going to get out of this? They can't just lock us up…" Scott asked with panic etched upon his face.

"I don't think we can," Stiles admitted solemnly.

It was the truth. There really was no way they could get around this unless Jackson sang a different tune. Currently they didn't even know if Jackson could even control his actions in his human state. Stiles feared that even a visit from Derek and the betas wouldn't set him straight.

"You can't just say that," Scott retorted in his own frustration.

"There's got to be some way… I can't be locked up. What about the full moon? What about everything?" he continued with pure anxiety and urgency.

His friend was right. Stiles worried about this factor from the moment the officers mentioned the detention center. He knew what those places were like, especially to guys like him and Scott. They would be put out there as fresh meat waiting to be pulverized. Scott had gotten better with his werewolf control methods recently, but Stiles doubted it would be enough to control his anger in a full blown fight. The full moon, however, would be the biggest issue. Scott needed to be somewhere he could get all of his… wolfishness out alone, but wherever they were going he would be stuck in a little room, possibly harmful to himself and anyone else who approached.

It was all too much to think about, and he felt like it was all on his shoulders. Stiles' mind would not relent. He was close to having a panic attack, but he thought back to one of his exercises his therapist taught him when his mother died. He had to count down with a breath in between.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

For now, it worked. Each number he thought of something that made him smile. Those memories were what he needed to get through this ordeal.

"We'll be okay… we'll be okay," he muttered to himself as he laid down on the cot and fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW TWTWTWTWTW

They were awoken by the guards early in the morning. The sun had barely risen. Neither of them could believe they were actually being sent off so soon. Stiles could see the pain in Scott's eyes. He wasn't even able to see his mom or Allison before they left. It wasn't much better for Stiles. The last time he saw his Dad was filled with grief and the piercing feeling of failure and disappointment.

However, today he had a plan. Well, a rough outline of one. As much as he mentally berated Scott over the past week, he knew that he was the one who had to be his anchor in there. There would be no Allison, no lacrosse, nothing positive. There was hardly a chance of him protecting Scott physically, but he was going to be fully there mentally. It would be important that he tried to keep his friend up. If this place broke him, Scott wouldn't have anyone to pull him back. It had to be him.

"So I was thinking…" Stiles started with a contrasting brightness to the grim atmosphere of the holding cells, "I think we can do this."

They were leaving in less than five minutes. A bus was sent over to take them up north to the detention center. Stiles overheard some of the guards saying something about throwing kids in a shit hole, he decided to ignore that detail.

"What makes you say that?" Scott asked as he continued to anxiously pace the cell. He seemed a bit caught off guard by Stiles' sudden change in attitude.

"I wasn't thinking clearly last night. I was scared, I still am. But someone will get us out of it. Maybe Derek will go all Dark Knight on Jackson, who knows," he joked with a half-smile. It was so hard to fake this whole false optimism thing.

"I mean, we've gotten through the werewolf situation so far," Stiles continued with a shrug. He disregarded the fact that this supernatural business resulted in the constant threat of their lives.

Scott nodded stoically. He was freezing over. Stiles noticed his friend doing this a lot lately. Instead of his usual blatant freak outs he would internalize his problems and create a shield. He knew because it was something he himself did it all the time.

The footsteps of the cops on duty echoed through the halls leading to the holding cell. The two friends looked at each other, knowing it was time.

"We'll get through this… I promise," Stiles said sincerely. He couldn't help but think this was what he said when Scott first got bitten. Were they getting through that successfully?

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

A secured bus transported them upstate to their new dwellings. The ride was long and uncomfortable. Crammed in with other juvenile inmates, there was little space to move. Their hands were bound in handcuffs while their feet were secured to a bar on the floor that ran up and down the side of the bus. They were also separated.

Stiles sat next to a guy twice his size with a lumpy shaved head. He would've thought he was at least 25 if he saw him on the street. Out of habit, he tried to make some typical Stiles small talk, but he stopped after his seatmate gave him a death glare. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Scott and his own model-esque seatmate few rows back looking equally uncomfortable.

The sun was beaming into the bus from all directions. It was one of those brutally chilly days where the air bit your bare skin, but the sun shined down in a blinding display. Splashes of the beautiful landscape flashed by as they got further. From what Stiles could tell, this place was isolated. When they entered a few private roads he knew it was only a matter of time before they arrived.

The road opened up into the vast grounds of the facility. It looked like some sort of small college rather than a prison, with the exception of the outmost walls bordered with barbed wire. Stiles could see inmates running in lines supervised by uniformed guards. The sight of the fellow inmates made him anxious. He and Scott would stick out like sore thumbs. This was not some sort of waiting game, he realized, it was survival.

A sense of relief spread over the bus as the long ride came to an end. Stiles was glad to be out, but he knew what was out there was worse. They released them out of their restraints in alphabetical order. Scott got out first giving his friend a half-hearted smile as a guard led him off the bus into the line. Eventually they got to Stiles who couldn't help but rub his wrists after hours of restraint. He could never really keep his hands still so unfortunately he was even more jittery than normal.

The air possessed a chill preferable to the heat of the bus, but at the same time made Stiles feel like something wasn't quite right.

The guards started directing them into clusters. Stiles could only hope he was placed with Scott since there was a possibility this is who they would be surrounded by on a daily basis. He'd seen enough prison movies to gather as much.

Two groups were already called and went off with a guard. The current guard was a man with a scruffy beard and the smell of alcohol seeping off of him even at a distance. There was something about him Stiles didn't like from merely a glance. It was the same sort of look that a beast would give its prey.

Unfortunately, he called his friends name.

"McCall… Scott McCall?" he asked in a disinterested manner. Each time he read someone's name it was like a new burden was upon him.

"Y-yeah," Scott said stepping forward.

"Well don't just stand there like an asshole, get in line," the guard commanded forcefully.

Stiles cringed. Scott would be stuck with that prick their entire stay. This only gave him more motivation to hope they would be released sometime in the near future… very near.

For a moment he caught Scott's eyes. It was like they were begging for him not to leave him. For once since this whole wolf business, Stiles felt like his protector. He was noticing the idea of being here was really getting to Scott. If only Scott realized how he was actually feeling.

Suddenly it happened.

"Stilinski… what the hell is with that first name?" the guard laughed as he looked around for his target.

"Uh, that would be me," Stiles nodded as he started to walk over to the line.

The guard took a stride towards him and grabbed his forearm with a painful grip.

"I don't like your tone, son. Now get in that fucking line," he ordered with a glaze of malice in his eyes.

Oh hooray, I've made a friend, Stiles thought.

Despite the ordeal he was glad to be in the same boat as his friend. Scott looked relieved as well, but still apprehensive of the man they were going to have to deal with.

"You alright?" Scott whispered as he pretended to look ahead without making eye contact.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it," Stiles responded. This would come to be a common response.

After everyone was divvied up into their own groups, Scott and Stiles followed theirs into the building. It smelled like any other high school they ever entered, but there was also a pulse of tension. They were guided through the lobby, which Stiles supposed they would never see again until their release. A few secretaries were present but diverted their eyes away from the inmates as if they would pounce if eye contact was made. Stiles hated this feeling, the feeling like he was some sort of disease, some kind of monster.

They turned off into a long hallway that contained various offices. Eventually it led to a bigger space and an archway into the infirmary. Knowing him and Scott, Stiles couldn't help but think they'd be there often.

The head guard turned to them.

"You're all gonna wait until your called for your examination. I don't wanna see any of your bullshit," he projected.

Although he wasn't looking up at the guard directly, he could feel his eyes on him.

No one in the group tried to make any sort of contact with each other while they were waiting. Stiles was bursting with comments to be made, but for once he bit his tongue. There was something about that guard he did not want to mess around with.

When they got further down the alphabet Scott was called. Each inmate stayed in the examination room about ten minutes before returning, looking equally uncomfortable. Scott's embarrassment showed plainly on his face when he walked back to the line.

"What…?" Stiles asked with big eyes, almost on the verge of nervous laughter.

"It was very… personal," Scott revealed with a sigh and a cringe.

Stiles soon found out what he meant. He did see the doctor, but not before he was strip searched by another guard. He was extremely sensitive about anyone seeing him without clothes on. When he first started lacrosse he tended to sneak off to the bathroom so he wouldn't have to get undressed in front of anyone else. Eventually he got over it, but here he was completely naked and being patted down and prodded.

Finally he was able to put his clothes back on and the doctor started doing his vitals. The man seemed very indifferent towards him and barely spoke except when he asked him to breathe or something. Everyone he met now thought he was some horrific criminal.

"How was yours?" Scott asked with a slight smirk as Stiles returned to the line.

"Very satisfactory," he replied in a deadpan but also joking matter.

The tour was over and they made it to their destination. They were all designated to B Block. It looked exactly like Stiles imagined: cold, sterile and frightening. All the doors were mechanically activated by the guards. There was a tiny frame of a window on them featuring bars.

All the strength Stiles tried to build up was gone. The guard led Scott into a cell and shut him in. Next, he did the same thing to Stiles. The cell was bare except for a rickety bed, a toilet, a sink and a decaying desk. There was a window high up near the ceiling, but it was frosted in a way that the sunlight was distorted.

He never felt so alone.