Yo! What better early Christmas present could there be than a new chapter, right? RIGHT? Anyways, it's a little later than I originally intended, but enjoy!
Stile trudges through the woods alone this time, nothing filling the silence but the sound of the ground under his feet and woodland animals around him. He doesn't register the puddle of water in his path until he walks right into it. He groans, pulling his foot out, which is now caked in mud and that's great. Great.
He considers grabbing a leaf from a nearby bush to wipe the excess mud off, but he just sighs and continues onward instead. It's chillier today, although the sun is shining and that makes Stiles wonder if the coldness inside him is what's causing goose bumps on his arm or the actual weather.
Scott wasn't there. He wasn't there and he was in danger and it's all his fault. He feels helpless, even more so than usual. He's worried that Scott's not going to be there again, and nervous because Scott might be there again. He's almost afraid of knowing, of what he might find, but also afraid of what he might now find.
He's also afraid of the guy. The one that was there yesterday. He wonders if Derek's going to be there again, maybe he might rub the fact that Stiles fucked up in his face some more. Stiles still can't pin where he's seen that face before, but he knows it's familiar. He doesn't dwell on it though, hadn't even thought about it again until now.
No, he was too busy trying to rid his words out of his brain. He didn't sleep last night, and it probably explains why he's been so moody today, but that could also be just a reflex for being so frustrated with himself and with Scott. Over Scott. He tossed and turned all night, all the while wondering what the hell happened and if Scott was dead or alive.
He didn't go to school today, couldn't face Allison knowing that Scott was in trouble and it was his fault. He avoided her calls all day and didn't answer the door when she called around after school. He hopes that by some miracle she didn't notice the big, blue jeep she had to pass to get to the front door and thought he wasn't home.
She knows he was, and he knows she does. Lydia didn't say a word about it during the ride up here, and he figured that she was pointedly not mentioning Allison with the amount of consideration she was putting into her words when describing her day. At one point it looked as though she was going to tell a funny story that he missed at school and then stopped. Allison must have been involved.
She still told him to tell Scott that she was asking for him when she was dropping him off, but her heart wasn't in it and he could read it all over her face. Allison must have told her because God knows he hasn't said a word to her since they arrived at the fence. He didn't even say anything in the car, and neither did Allison. Lydia didn't push to ask what was wrong, but he knew she could tell.
So yeah, he didn't handle the idea that he might have gotten his best friend killed very well. Figures. He shut Allison out and went home without a word, not even a goodbye. He pretended not to hear his father in the living room watching 'Married… With Children' and silently went straight to his room and crawled into bed, not getting out of it until about an hour ago.
That's when he ate, took a shower and waited for Lydia to arrive, thankfully without Allison, and brought him here. Here, as it turns out, is right in front of the bushes that separate the forest from the facility. He hadn't even realized he was close, never mind twenty feet away. He considers turning back for a brief moment, but decides against it because if Scott's there he's going to want somebody there with him.
He takes one steadying breath before pushing forward, not realizing just how slow he's walking, just to prolong the bliss that is ignorance. His heart sinks when he gets to the edge of the bushes on the other side, through the branches he can see a figure, but it's enough to see that it's not Scott, but the other guy.
::: :::
Derek hears him rather than sees him, and he suspects that the kid doesn't actually realize just how loud he is. An amused smile curls his lips. "You know your hoodie isn't exactly subtle," he calls to the figure watching him from the bushes not ten feet away. He hears a faint 'crap', before the kid is standing before him. Of course, he's referring to the fact that the kid is wearing a bright red hoodie while walking through the woods in daylight.
He doesn't say anything as he approaches the fence, and Derek silently watches him from where he's sitting in the grass, his back to the wall. He squints up at the boy's face, whose looking adorably determined with his creased baby face, a frustrated curl to his lips.
"Where's Scott?" he demands in a no bull shit attitude.
"Sit down," Derek says after a moment's pause. The kid looks down at the ground and then back up at Derek without making a move to do as Derek suggested. He can tell the kid is reluctant, and definitely a pain in the ass. Stubborn.
He does sit down though, matches Derek pose of crossing his legs and looks Derek square in the eye. Derek tries not to look too smug about it, this is pretty serious after all, and he should probably take it easy on the kid for both their sakes. "Tell me what happened," he says, when he comes to the conclusion that Derek probably still hasn't learned where Scott is since the last time they spoke.
"There was accident a couple of days ago," and Derek continues when the guy's face crumples with how that sounded. "Scott wasn't involved, but there was room search ordered and they found everything Scott had been hiding. He and his roommate were caught and taken away."
"Isaac," he says faintly, staring down at the ground. For some reason he didn't think Scott had mentioned Isaac, but he supposes that that's perfectly understandable that he had. He wonders just how much Scott told him and how much he knows about what they really are. This isn't exactly a prison for werewolves as far as the public are aware. "And you haven't heard from them?" he asks hopefully, and this is where it gets complicated.
"Not exactly," he answers honestly, and that has him lifting his head back up again with raised eyebrows. Derek almost doesn't want to crush the look on his face.
"I don't know what that means," he shakes his head, urging him to continue. Derek sighs, considering his words, but the boy just seems to grow impatient the longer he takes.
"Isaac came back yesterday evening."
"Oh," he says, although it didn't sound as hurt as Derek had anticipated. "That means there's hope right? That Scott will come back, too." He's nodding his head like it's a silent plea for Derek to say yes, to just go along with it even if there's no hope and Derek knows he won't be. Derek almost does, but shakes his head again.
"Isaac didn't actually do anything wrong. He wasn't the one that was sneaking prohibited items into their room. Isaac just happened to share a room with somebody that did and got caught up in the mess." The hopeful look on the kid's face doesn't seem to have been deterred, so Derek doesn't continue for fear that the kid's heart will break right there in front of him.
A silence falls between them, the boy opposite him just pulling blade of grass out of the ground and then disposing of them almost as soon as he picked them up.
"The camera is off, by the way," he says a while later, breaking the silence as he points up to the camera on the wall facing them. "Just in case you were wondering." He was, actually, but his tone makes him sound disinterested. "I know one of the operators, he's been helping me out." He doesn't know if he's boasting about it or just needing a way to fill the silence. Derek was just about to get up and leave before he spoke, and the kid could leave whenever he wants, so he'll go with the former.
"It sounds like it's quite an elaborate scheme you've got going on," Derek goes along with it. He smiles minutely, one hand of his elbows resting on his crossed leg as his cheek rests against his palm. He looks tired, like he could topple over any second now.
"Thanks," he says. Just when Derek thinks he's not going to continue speaking he does. "There's a girl, Lydia, she drives me up to the edge of the forest and I go on foot from there."
"She was with you yesterday," he says, but he just shakes his head in response.
"No, that was Allison. She couldn't come today." His tone changes then, from bored to sad, but Derek doesn't ask, doesn't particularly want to know. The only reason he's still here is to humour the kid. "It's Lydia that's the driver, she waits for an hour before coming back to pick me up." Derek realizes then that he's not actually boasting but just really needs something to talk about to pass the time.
Derek settles in instead of being on the verge of leaving all the time, and he seems to notice but doesn't say anything. He looks tired and lonely and Derek knows exactly what he's feeling, he's felt it for four years.
"Have you been doing this for four years?" Derek asks, and the boy perks up again. He nods, but doesn't say anything further. Well, that's the first and last time Derek will ever try and strike up a conversation. Another stretch of silence begins, and it lasts a few minutes before he starts talking again.
"Hey, what's your name?" he asks, and Derek stiffens, looking like a deer caught in headlights. The pauses continues for such a long time that it just gets awkward and the kid rolls his eyes. He's not sure if he should be giving away that kind of information, after all, he doesn't know this kid and he could just be a hunter testing him. He wouldn't put it passed them, any excuse to put a bullet in one of them.
"I'm Stiles," he says, putting his palm flat against his chest. Stiles gives him an expectant look when Derek opens his mouth.
"What kind of a name is Stiles?" he asks, and Stiles deflates, throwing a limp hand at him in a 'forget it' gesture. He doesn't know why he does it, but he does anyway.
"Derek." The kid- Stiles, looks back up at him. "What?"
"My name is Derek." Stiles gives him a calculating look before shrugging, and Derek only realizes that Stiles brought a backpack with him when he pulls it around in front of him an unzips it to pull out a plastic lunch box.
Derek knows what's in it before Stiles even finishes lifting off the lid. Even now he still recognizes the delicious smell, he hasn't had apple pie this good since his mo- in a very long time, is all. Stiles wraps the large end in a piece of tissue, and Derek can't seem to take his eyes off the slice in Stiles' long, slender fingers.
Stiles nudges it toward the fence in offering. Derek considers it, and he knows how hypocritical it is to take this, but knows how amazing it would taste if he just went ahead and took it. One more intake of apple pie-filled air has his mouth watering in anticipation.
But Stiles seems to acknowledge Derek's inward battle, rolls his eyes and reaches through the fence. Derek takes a sharp intake of air as he watches Stiles do it, still in disbelief that anyone would even dare to put a finger across the border, before Stiles is wrapping Derek's own fingers around the slice before retreating carefully.
And Derek doesn't even stop him, just watches and allows him without snapping or flinching away from the physical contact. He eyes the slice dubiously, and the thought that Stiles might not even be McCall's friend but an untrustworthy stranger is still lingering in the back of his head. It could be poison, it could laced with mountain ash, he shouldn't even be-
"Just eat it, you idiot," he huffs, looking very disappointed in him. Derek eyes it briefly one more time before shrugging and reluctantly bites the tip. He's hardly closed his mouth around it when a moan escapes his mouth involuntarily, but he's too busy floating on air to even feel slightly humiliated with himself.
The moan that comes after that comes out longer this time, more luxurious, and he closes his eyes in ecstasy just as Stiles' cheeks flare a hot red. "This is amazing," he mumbles, crumbs spewing from his mouth. Stiles swallows and nods quickly.
"I know, right?" he says hoarsely, coughing afterwards to clear his throat and dips his gaze to the floor. Derek leans back more comfortably against the wall savouring the last mouthful as the flavours dance on his tongue. He sighs after, opens his eyes to meet Stiles' flushed, hard stare.
He's starting to understand the appeal of coming here every day, and finds that any judgement he had been feeling over Scott has vanished. Well, except for the fact that he was stupid enough to bring things in with him and put Isaac's life in danger.
No, there's definitely judgement on that front, but as Derek catches Stiles' eyes, he thinks that eating a poisoned apple pie is a death to be desired in this place.
::: :::
Stiles wouldn't say he had a comfortable sleep. No, it was the opposite in fact. And that being said he had barely slept at all. He spent the majority of his time in bed worrying over Scott, about how he hadn't shown up and how he might be dead and that opened a whole other can of worms that Stiles isn't even going to think about now, because honestly, being on the verge of a panic attack once in the last twelve hours is enough, thank you.
Not to mention all of the guilt he feels, about Scott and for Allison, and for how he basically led her along and cock-blocked in the most superior of ways. Oh, and of course, what he's going to say to her in school today, how he's going to apologize and excuse his ignoring her yesterday, and that's if she's even still talking to him, which he's almost certainly sure she isn't.
And then that led to Derek and whoever the fuck he is, and that's when Stiles realizes that Stiles doesn't know shit about the guy, it's not like 'Derek' rang any bells anyway. And then there's how Derek even knew who Stiles was, because he's almost a thousand percent sure they made a pact not to tell anybody.
Well, apart from Lydia and Allison (because they kind of need to know), and Jackson only knows by association with Lydia, because which of his secrets has she not told him. Like, surely Scott could keep it a secret from some fucking random guy if Stiles has to keep it from Scott's mother to keep her safe and hello, Stiles' father.
And by the time those thoughts came around it already way past four am and even his brain was getting sick of listening to him so he did his best to just get rid of his mother's disappointed face looking at him, because let's be real here, she'd totally be judging him if she was still around. And then that led to thoughts of his mother, and as the world can probably guess, he's not very fond of those thoughts, either.
So basically, his night was a cluster-fuck of awful memories, guilt, panic attacks, and shittiness all round. Which is why when his alarm goes off he almost considers taking another sick day and avoiding all of his problems for another twenty four hours all together. He's a fan of ignoring the problem until it goes away.
He needs his Adderall, because damn, that was a lot of shit to think of in thirty seconds.
Stiles whines to the obnoxiously loud sound of his alarm, slapping his hand around the bedside locker until it eventually falls off the side, still alarming the fuck out of him. He pouts, rolling along the bed until he gets to the very edge and throws his hand down. It falls quiet, and he ends up lying there, embracing the last minute that he has in his nice, warm bed before getting up.
He eventually stands, almost falling in his tired-drunk state as he hobbles straight to the bathroom to pee, his eyes still droopy and mostly shut. He takes a shower and dresses himself, still hunched over and walking like a zombie, still not fully awake. He can already tell that today is going to be a joy.
He's had the night and morning from hell, and it can only go downhill from here…
"You're avoiding her," Lydia remarks. Stiles closes his eyes, asks for patience. Not out loud obviously, he likes not having a red heel stuck up his ass. He can picture the sass in Lydia's stance behind him, book in one arm resting against her tilted hip, hand resting on the other side.
"M'not," he says, closing the door to his locker and immediately looking to his right. Lydia sighs behind him, Stiles pretends not to hear.
"Oh yeah? Then why are you making sure she's not standing at her locker right now?" Stiles contains his wince, turns his head away from Allison's thankfully unattended locker, and instead begins walking to his left, the sound of Lydia's relentless heels clapping the ground behind him.
He could out-walk her right now. Her legs are short and she's wearing heels. It probably wouldn't be a good idea, he's faced the ginger fury before and it wasn't exactly a joyous experience that he wants to live through again.
Plus, Lydia could run a marathon in heels.
"She told me what happened, by the way. Oh, and thanks for the information, jackass." Stiles slows, an inquisitive yet confused look on his face.
"I'm not your boyfriend. Oh wait, no, that's Jackson. I get mixed up sometimes," he shrugs. Lydia smiles falsely at him.
"Cute," she curls her lip. "Save the foreplay for when he's actually around." Stiles winks at her, and she breaks eye contact with him.
"So when is Jackson going to grace us with his presence?" he drawls, trying not to say anything too negative considering the little pact of allegiance they've agreed to in sophomore year.
"Whenever you stop trying to change the subject." Stiles almost comes to a halt, but manages to keep to the same pace down the hall.
"When did I start?" Lydia tilts her head, eyes on the ceiling as she feigns deep thought.
"Well, there was that time ten minutes ago when you redirected the conversation to my hair colour. Remember? You asked if I had changed it even though we both know you've paid enough attention to it since third grade that it's practically ingrained into your brain."
"I vaguely remember that. Name another time."
"Oh. There was that time when you were doing right now." Stiles snorts, but the look on Lydia's face tells him she doesn't find it so funny.
"Yup," he says, popping the 'p'. Lydia puts a hand on his elbow, a move that would have floored him three years ago. They come to a halt, and the look of sincerity on her face nearly has him cracking like concrete under a jackhammer.
She's about as powerful as one.
"It's okay, you know," she says, her thumb brushing against his skin. He barely has time to think of a response to that before the morning bell gives him the perfect escape.
"Oh," he winces, moving to walk away. "Would you look at that? We're out of time, it was fun speaking to you, though!" he calls dramatically, escaping into the first classroom he sees.
"You can't hide forever, Stilinski!" he hears her call over the crowd of students rushing the hall. He lets out a sigh of relief as he leans back against the closed door. It's the sound of Harris' shrill voice that has him opening them again.
"Nice of you to join us, Stilinski. I'm glad you decided to take full advantage of the extra morning classes I've been holding." He turns to the rest of the class, who are staring back at him from their seats.
He pretends not to notice Allison sitting somewhere in the middle, and ignores the 'God knows you need them' that Harris utters under his breath as he walks. That would explain why she wasn't around this morning, then.
So much for keeping a low profile and avoiding her, as previously planned this morning. He can feel the judgment in the air as he takes a seat at the back instead of his usual one next to Allison. He knows it looks like he's being a dick. Maybe he is being a dick, he just can't find it in him to care. So he starts again on the whole keeping his head down thing and takes his notes like a good student.
By the time lunch rolls around on the clock he's managed to up the amount of people he's avoiding to a whopping three people. After what was arguably a jaw-dropping display of teaching by Harris he was practically sprinting out the door in such a fashion that even Finstock would have been proud.
And would have probably yelled a lot about Stiles lacking in fitness when running track. You win some, you lose some.
And then there's Lydia, who he managed to outrun in the hall earlier that day despite the consequences he will no doubt face later. She was even calling his name from down the hall. That'll earn him an extra kick to the balls later when she finally catches up to him.
And then there's Jackson because, well, he's Jackson and Stiles tends to avoid him every day. At this rate he'll be hiding from half the school by dinner time.
It's when he's bypassing the cafeteria at lunch that he actually does bump into Jackson. And when there's Jackson there's usually a five foot fiery demon in tow. In what was no doubt a stunning display of maturity, she flicked him four times on the forehead and yelled 'Get your goddamn head out of your ass!'
She even first named him. That's when he knew he was really in trouble. On the bright side his balls are still in-tact and the entire situation is fixable. The bright side is still very dull, apparently. So dull that he ended up in the library during lunch, having made his way there after Lydia stomped off and Jackson hissed unsympathetically in sympathy.
There's a reason Stiles thinks he's a jackass. He is found later on though, in what Stiles would like to call an ambush.
"You look tired," Allison comments, sitting next to him on the bleachers. Okay, so not quite an ambush.
"I am tired," is all he says in reply.
"Me too." Stiles nods, eyes fixed at his fumbling hands. It's a little chili outside, he should invest in a heavier hoodie, a pair of gloves maybe. "Did you sleep?"
"Nope," he says honestly. "Not since Scott left." Disappeared, he wanted to say.
"He still hasn't come back?" He shakes his head as an answer, doesn't know how to explain to her in words that Scott still hasn't been seen at all, or that he's in contact with some stranger. A story for a different day maybe. "Do you think he's going to?"
Stiles doesn't answer her, instead looks at her for the first time since she sat down. She looks about as tired as he feels, and he wonders if she's slept any more than he has. "He'll be back." Not because he believes it, or that he wants to believe it, but because he has to believe. He has to believe that Scott will be there waiting for him later. Otherwise he might lose his freaking mind.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, doesn't meet her eyes but he means it in every sense of the word. Sorry for avoiding her, sorry for getting her hopes up and sorry for knocking them back down again. Sorry for Scott. And not just for what happened with him the other day, but for what he did four years ago. "If I hadn't dragged him-"
"Don't," she says, and the word hits him with such force that the rest of the sentence just falls off his tongue. He doesn't mention that day again, and neither does she.
"I'm going back later," he changes the subject. Something tells him she was about to do the same. It's hardly news to her anyway. She doesn't respond, it's not really up for discussion anyway. They both know he'll go regardless of what he expects to happen. He knows she's not coming back with him, he figures it's a conversation left undiscussed.
A cool breeze sends shivers down his spine, and when he curls in on himself for warmth Allison stands from her seat.
"Come on," she urges. "Let's get inside its freezing." Stiles looks up at her and nods as she begins to walk, and he takes the stairs two steps at a time to catch up to her.
"You know, I think Finstock is finally starting to acknowledge me," he says, a sudden light-hearted shift in the conversation. Allison looks over to where Finstock is giving it loads to one of Stiles' teammates that he's never bothered to learn the name of, not even noticing Stiles leave practise early.
"Mhm," she hums, a mischievous grin on her face. Stiles scrunches his nose at her, shoves her shoulder softly and she laughs. He loves her laugh, even if he rarely hears it these days. "That why you've been sitting on the bench the last twenty minutes?"
"Shut up. Stalker," he mutters, not even the slightest bit offended. It's senior year and he's going to make it to first line by the last game if it's the last thing he ever does.
::: :::
Derek makes sure to shut the cell door when he changes. He doesn't trust himself to not get killed while he's blinded by the fabric of his shirt when he pulls it over his head. Although he doesn't know if it's a lack of trust in himself or a lack of trust in others.
He trusts neither anyway.
It's hard to put faith in anybody in here, including himself. Someone's always bound to let you down, or get killed, or get you killed. It's happened enough in the last few days. He finds himself leaving the cell, eyes glancing over to Greenberg's cell where a new door still has to be fitted.
He wonders how long it'll be before the cell is filled. If he had money, he'd put it on the end of the week. He supposes it's the only faith you can have here, you can always have faith that the worst is yet to come.
It's not the only perfect example of what he's just said. Yes, Greenberg let everybody down, got himself killed and killed Jared in the process. As he passes Isaac's thankfully empty cell, he can't help but blame him a little for what happened with him and McCall.
Isaac had faith. He had faith in McCall to not let him down, to not get killed, to not get Isaac himself killed. And it's exactly what McCall did, because Derek's nothing if not honest, McCall is dead. They all know it, even Stiles must know it. Erica and Boyd the same, the only reason nobody's said it out loud is for Isaac's benefit.
Isaac is learning about the cold, harsh reality of this place.
And he looks at himself, for having trust Isaac. When Isaac left, Derek nearly went out of his mind. And now that he's back, Derek doesn't trust himself to get close to him anymore. Because Derek trusts far too easily, and it's a habit that got him in here in the first place. The only time Derek doesn't trust people is when it actually matters.
And he knows, better than anybody, that the hunters aren't the only monsters in this place, because it's not what you are that makes you a monster, it's who you are. And some people are just monstrous people. Take Aiden for example, who he sees seated at a table when he passes through the canteen.
And it's not just Aiden, it's the whole pack. Bar Ethan, of course. They're a bunch of loose canons on the brink of firing, and Derek can say that he trusts his judgement enough to know that it won't end well for any of them. He's watched them, for the past year or so, just watched from a distance as the cracks formed.
They're not who they were a year ago, and he's seen some of the shit they've pulled when they were stable, but now, when they're on the verge of a meltdown, he can't imagine what's coming his way. It always comes his way.
And when he passes Satomi in the corridor, they don't speak. They don't make eye contact, neither of them acknowledge the other. She's an old family friend, he remembers her from when he was just a child. She doesn't look like she's aged a day, from what he can remember. He should trust her, like his mother did, but then again his mother was always put far too much faith in others, even hunters.
Just another reason why he's here, he supposes, but pushes any thought of it away as he enters the counsellor's room.
::: :::
"You know, I was just thinking," Derek says, catching Morrell's undivided attention. She's been staring at him in silence for the last fifteen minutes with her notepad resting on her folded arms. She never takes notes. He wonders if she uses it as a barrier between them, a shield to symbolise who's really in control here.
She nods her head. She never speaks first, and Derek wonders if it's a power thing. That she knows he'll speak first, that he'll break before she does. "I was just wondering why it is that you're here."
"Excuse me?" she asks, without a single change in her calm expression. It's almost eerie.
"I was just thinking why it is that you're here. The psychiatrists, as you call yourselves. What are you here for?" She takes a moment to respond like they both don't already know the answer.
"Protocol. Why do you think you are here, Derek?" Derek smiles at her answer, so predetermined and rehearsed.
"I was just about to ask you the same question." Her tone is calm when she speaks, the mask on her face still standing strong.
"Why don't we leave the question asking to me?" she says, eyes meeting his and never wavering. "Why do you think you're here?"
"You've already asked me that question. Did you know it was the first thing you said to me?" He wonders what it says about him that he remembers something so insignificant from four years back. Maybe it's because the answer is what stayed with him.
"Answer again." He wonders if she even remembers his answer, if she remembers his face from so long ago, in the moment he realized what the world thought of him. He wonders if she's hoping for a change in opinion.
"Because I'm a monster," he answers automatically, like the answer has been drilled into his head so much that even he believes it. She seems to consider him, but he knows it's all for show.
"You don't believe that, do you?" Derek lifts his gaze to meet hers.
"Do you?" he snipes, and when he realizes she's not going to answer he sighs, dropping his gaze back to the floor. "No. I don't believe it."
"Why?"
"Do monsters have nightmares?" he lifts his gaze again, looks her dead in the eye and waits for a response. She hasn't moved since he sat down twenty minutes ago, and he wonders if her eyes have left his the entire time. She knows how to play the game, maybe the problem is that she knows it too well.
"You're having nightmares again," she responds in lieu of an actual answer. It's usually how she works, a question for a question. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Derek only nods. "Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know. You tell me," he hunches forward, arms folded and resting against his knees as he sits. "You're the psychiatrist." His leg bounces as he waits for a response.
"Acceptance." Derek snorts, sitting straight again and resting his head against the back of the chair. He nods his head and smiles at the ceiling.
"Hate to break it to you, but I accepted this place a long time ago." It was about three, maybe four months in, when he realized that this was his life now, this is it for him. It made it easier, but also harder at the same time.
"Maybe its peace."
"In this place?" Derek asks, because there's no such thing as peace in this place. How on Earth could she possibly have come up with peace?
"You're referring to the other night, aren't you? The feral." Derek hates that word, as much as he's used it and heard it being used. Like he's a wild animal. It hits a nerve in him. "Greenberg, no?"
"Yeah," he says, without pause, because somebody remembered his fucking name.
"It upset you. Shook you." Derek meets her eyes again. "Scared you." A bitter smile spreads across Derek's face. He could almost laugh at her.
"I'm not scared," he says easily, because he's not. He wonders if that's a good or a bad thing.
"Why did it scare you?" she asks, and Derek rubs his eyes tiredly. She's starting to sound like a broken record, but he doesn't repay her with a response. "Why did it give you nightmares?" He knows she knows where this is going.
"My uncle."
"Peter," she says thoughtlessly, just as Derek knew she would.
"Yeah. It- The same thing happened to him," he says, but doesn't clarify.
"Which was?" Derek sighs, rests his chin in his hands as his eyes move to the window, high up the wall. He can see clouds, a hint of blue by the corner of the window.
"I know what you're thinking," he tells her, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. It's the first facial movement she's made in the entire session.
"Is that so?" she urges him on, and he gets the sense that she's still in control, that she'll always be in control no matter what direction he takes the conversation in.
"He turned into a monster." She looks satisfied with that answer, but doesn't push on. "A wild, savage, raging beast. That's what you wanted me to say, right?"
"Why would you say that?"
"It's true, isn't it?"
"Is it?" she asks, as collected as ever. Derek barely resists the urge to roll his eyes skyward.
"I don't think I trust myself to answer that question," he answers her honestly. He knows that's true, because he knows himself that the longer he stays here the more he starts to believe it. How could he not?
"You don't trust many, do you?" Derek jerks his head back to face her, her words unexpected. In hindsight he should have seen it coming, should have chosen his words more carefully. He doesn't say anything. "You trust me." It's not a question, more of a statement, but not smug. She says it like its fact. Its certainly news to Derek.
"Do I?" Because he's not entirely sure himself. Surely it's preposterous.
"Why else would you open up to me?" This time Derek does roll his eyes, an unamused smile on his face. She doesn't seem to find it funny, but there's a smile on her face regardless, and Derek feels like that smile is one of judgement, or pity even.
"I think 'open up' is a bit of a stretch," he says. A bit too strong of a term for what they do here. He's never had anything more than a conversation in his eyes, never anything that comes close to opening up. She clears her throat, flicks a stray hair out of her vision. This time her smile does seem amused.
"Your name is Derek Samuel Alan Hale. You're twenty two years old, born December twenty-fifth, 1993. You're son of Talia and Daniel Hale, as are Cora, Laura, and your twin brothers, Oscar and Alex. You lived with your uncle Peter, who had two kids, Liam and Malia. You attended Beacon Hills High School, where you were captain of the basketball team. It's also where you met K-"
"I get it," he interrupts her, sensing the next part of his life story that she was about to touch on. It's not something he needs to hear out loud, again apparently. He feels bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of the name alone, and she only said the first letter.
"You asked me why I'm here, Derek. You gave yourself an answer to that question just now." Derek can feel his laboured breathing beginning to calm down as she speaks, and he goes almost silent in anticipation for her next few words. "I'm here to study you. In the last ten minutes I've come to the conclusion that you are scared. You're alone. Tired. Restless. Shaken. Wise."
Derek scoffs at her. "You know what you are, Derek. And to answer your previous question; I do think there are monsters in here." With that she ends the session, and Derek finds himself outside the room before he even registers that he's sat up.
He knows what she meant by her words, doesn't mean he has to believe her.
::: :::
Derek's tying his laces while kneeling on the ground when Erica strides into his cell, flops onto the bed and sprawls out across it. Derek blinks up at her, her head tilted right to look at him, faces only inches apart.
"Hey handsome," she winks, and scoffing, he goes back to tying his laces. She peeks down as he busies his hands. "Where ya goin'?"
"A walk," he lies, but he says it casually enough that she won't read too much into it. He goes on walks regularly so it's nothing out of the ordinary. He'd prefer runs, like he used to, but he'll take what he can get.
She groans, rolling back over on her back to stare up at the ceiling. Derek smirks, anticipating her words and knowing exactly what she's about to say.
"Ugh, you're so boring. Why don't you ever just want to hang out?" Derek quirks an eyebrow up at her, even though she can't see it.
"You want to hang out?" he asks suspiciously. It's a bit of a strange situation, if he's honest with himself. She's never asked him to hang out before, they've barely even conversed up until the other day.
"Yeah. You know, relax, have fun, tell each other secrets," she drawls. "You are familiar with the concept?" she mocks him.
"Ooh," he says, rising. "Can we talk about boys and braid each other's hair?" Erica grins up at him, he likes her like this, its a new side of her.
"Nobody told me you were funny," she tilts her head, like she's trying and failing to suss him out. Derek exhales a put-upon sigh.
"Nobody ever believes I want to talk about boys," he shakes his head, and Erica actually laughs. Derek can't help but smile back. "I've wanted a braid for years."
"Grow out your beard and I'll braid it for you. I think the hipster-stoner look would suit you." Derek hums, zipping up his hoodie. "Go on your walk you old man. I'll be here when you get back, thinking about boys," she sighs dreamily, and Derek snorts, because he knows she'll be thinking about a boy. His name rhymes with Boyd.
It's when he gets to the exercise yard that his mood turns suddenly less humorous. The sight of Isaac in the distance, on one of the machines makes his chest ache. Half because he hasn't seen Isaac since the night he got back, mainly due to Derek's avoidance of him, and half because Isaac never exercises.
He supposes the thing with McCall shook him more than Derek thought it had. He quickly moves away, settling on the idea that he can deal with it later, or tomorrow maybe. He's usually not one for ignoring the problem until it goes away, and that's not really what's happening here anyway. He's more of a 'sit back and wait for the problem to find me' type of guy.
It doesn't matter now anyway, because he finds himself rounding the wall to the fence without a second thought for Isaac. His thoughts move towards McCall, and how he still hasn't returned yet. He sits in the grass and leans back against the wall, and waits for Stiles to arrive.
He's resting his eyes when Stiles does eventually come, and this time he's wearing a less obvious, green, plaid shirt. He wonders if Stiles wore it on purpose. Derek immediately sits up, and when his eyes meet Stiles, he can practically feel the disappointment in them.
Stiles opens his mouth, closes it, opens it, and Derek hates the look on his face. He doesn't move away from the threshold of the bush, doesn't approach the fence, he doesn't make any move to come closer.
And it's not until Derek shakes his head that a look of resigned sadness and disappointment washes across his features. He nods, blinking rapidly as he dips his head and turns around, back through the bushes. Derek wordlessly watches him leave, doesn't even try and explain anything, just lets him leave.
It's not until Stiles is definitely gone that he stands back up again, and it's a long while at least before he does. That whole thing was a little strange, Stiles in particular, but he can't help but feel sorry for him, helpless behind a fence and nothing to do about it.
He feels more sympathy for Stiles in that moment than he does for himself. Shrugging, he rounds the wall again.
He'll be back tomorrow.
::: :::
"He'll be there," Lydia says, for what feels like the millionth time since they got in the car. It sounds highly illogical that she's said it a million times but- whatever, she has, okay? He sighs and keeps his gaze on the passing forestry.
"So, I've been told. By everybody."
"By three people," she answers back. Excuse him for being a little impatient after what happened yesterday, when Derek was sitting against the wall waiting for him and not Scott. He couldn't sit there and pretend to not want to go home, so he just turned around and left.
"Three people too many, to be honest." He can hear the eye roll as she takes a left turn. They're not too far now. He's dreading it.
"What'd you bring him?" she changes the subject, and it sounds so casual that if he didn't know her as well as he does, he might actually believe that she thinks he's there waiting for him. They both know better, as proven by the fact that he's empty handed today.
"Nothing," he glances down at the floor, where there's no bogs and no treats sitting there between his legs. "No use carrying a bunch of shit around for nothing, eh?" She shakes her head, like he's the one being illogical here.
"You know even if he's not there, it's not your faul-"
"Don't," he cuts in, maybe a little harsher than was strictly necessary, but it shut her up all the same. He's not even angry, he's tired of hearing the same bullshit over and over again. Stiles never actually blamed himself, never in words anyway. The fact that everyone keeps saying it for him just goes to show that they think it, too.
Otherwise, they must be mind-readers.
"Should I hang around, just in case? You were pretty quick yesterday." And there it is, the doubt in her mind finally bleeding through, and he can't even feel smug about catching her out on her lies. Stiles shakes his head.
"No. I'll call you if I need you." She nods, and if he knows her as well as he thinks he does, she's feeling smug right now. He knows all she heard there was that he has hope that Scott will be there, and that that's why he'll take so long. Truth is he'll be talking to Derek, but she doesn't have to know that.
"Yesterday," she starts again, and the word cuts him like a cold reminder of the ache he felt the day before. "Was he there? The guy?" Derek, he almost corrects. Stiles shakes his head again instead, in one of the few occasions where he manages to bite his tongue.
"No. No, he wasn't there. Nobody was." He hopes she can't pick up on his lies, but he figures her attention is being paid mostly to the road, so he thinks he's in the clear for now. She can read him like a book usually, that girl.
"Maybe Scott just missed you," she says, and Stiles actually laughs. It's bitter, but amused at the same time.
"Don't patronize me," he wheezes, coming down from the high of the laugh. Lydia sighs across from him, and it has his temper flaring, even though she's not to know he has an insider giving him information. He doesn't even know if he can trust Derek. He can't tell anyone about him until he knows Derek is a reliable source.
"How do you know he hasn't?" Lydia pushes him further.
"Because Scott hasn't 'missed me' in four years, okay Lyds? That's not something that ever happens." The end of the sentence feels final, and a silence drags on between them that's almost unbearably loud.
"I just hate seeing you like this," she says softly, glancing at him briefly before turning back to the road. It's only when she looks at him that he realizes how he must look. Tired, pale, slouched down in the seat, and when he becomes aware of himself, he realizes he's honest to God pouting.
"You must be pretty used to by now. After four years of it." It comes out with more patience than what he's actually feeling, and it just now hits him how long it's been going on for. Four years. Four year and nothing. If anything, they're further off from saving anybody in there than they were at the beginning.
"It wasn't always like this."
"No, because he was alive!" he yells, and he's not even apologetic for the way that she flinches across from him. "We had hope!" His voice is a loud contrast to hers, and she keeps herself calm and collected while Stiles seems to be splitting at the seams.
"There's always hope, Stiles." She sounds hopeful, and it's so genuine that he almost falls for it. He shakes his head in frustration, unbuckling his seat belt as the car comes to a halt.
"The only thing we can hope for, is that I haven't actually killed him." And with that he slams the car door shut behind him, trudging off into the woods alone and leaving her there with a tear running down her cheek.
He knows he shouldn't be so harsh on her, he knows it's not her fault, and it's only when he's minutes away from the facility that he realizes this. He's going to have a lot of explaining to do later, but he'll figure it out eventually. Right now there are more pressing matters at hand, like the broody stranger named Derek waiting on the other side of the fence for him.
He can't say he's surprised, or even disappointed. Nah, he went through the stages of denial for the last time yesterday, when his heart shattered the moment he saw Derek waiting and not Scott. They had geared him up for it all day, told him he'd be there, told him not to worry, made him fall for it, made him hopeful.
Not today. No, today, he got exactly what he was expecting. It hurts slightly less when you know life is going to fuck you over. At least he had time to prepare for this one.
Stiles sighs and accepts his fate, wordlessly sitting down cross-legged in the grass. Derek's eyes are on him the entire time, and he doesn't speak either. The sound for the first few moments is the wind brushing against the leaves and branches behind him. Derek still watches him.
"McCall's not here," he states, and okay, Stiles snorts. Derek narrows his eyes at him, but with their thickness it's hard to take them seriously.
"Gee, I didn't notice. Thanks for the info though, I knew I could count on you." Derek looks more confused now than anything, and there's maybe a hint of anger there, or frustration. Another silence falls between them, and it's only when Derek looks like he's about to high-tail it out of there that Stiles speaks again. "So what's new with you, Derek?" Now there's just confusion on his face.
"What?" he asks gruffly.
"What's up? Talk to me here," he gestures to himself, and then between the two of them. "You do know how to talk, right?" Derek full on scowls at him, and boy is it fun winding this guy up.
"I didn't come here to talk," he says stiffly. Stiles tilts his head at him.
"Why did you come here?" Stiles settles down on the ground, curling his arms around his legs for some extra warmth. Derek shrugs. Stiles shrugs back. Derek quirks an eyebrow, Stiles mimics him back. Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles only smiles back him, not whole-heartedly but it's wide and amused.
"I came to tell you Scott wasn't here." Stiles glances around the area.
"Well, duh," he says, not finding anything so funny once he realizes why he was here in the first place. "You know if there was nobody here waiting for me I'd get the message, dude." Derek looks genuinely uncomfortable now whereas Stiles got the impression the scowling before was for show, it doesn't seem so much now.
"Sorry," he says, moving to stand up. Stiles almost stands up with him. "I'll just go."
"Woah," Stiles replies, "I was just kidding, man." He gets the feeling Derek doesn't like being called dude or man. But hey, the brief looks of outrage on his face are totally worth it. Derek reluctantly sits back down, looking a little shy.
"You don't have to pity me," he says. "Don't feel like you have to stay, I'm not McCall."
"Well, I'm here now. So, you can totally pity me and talk to me for the next hour because I've got shit else to do today."
"Okay," he says slowly, like he's unsure if this is a good idea. "What's up?" Stiles laughs at the stiffness in his words, and Derek scowls at him again. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," Stiles calms himself. "It's just- you don't seem like the kind of guy that says what's up a lot."
"Well, I live in a prison. Usually all that's up is the attempted suicide rate." Stiles laughs, despite the probable seriousness of Derek's words, but Derek smiles back all the same.
"All's quiet on my side, dude. Got a shit ton of homework that needs to doin', though."
"You have homework?" Derek asks, like this information genuinely surprises him.
"Yup. I got calc and history," he sighs, dreading the night ahead of him. He sees Adderall and coffee in his future.
"You're still in high school," Derek says, and it's less of a question than it is a statement. Stiles wonders if Derek's ever heard of a question mark.
"Yup," Stiles nods his head. "Senior." Derek nods his head back.
"You gonna go to college?" Derek pushes on, even though he doesn't seem particularly interested in the answer, not that Stiles has a definite answer, or any answer at all.
"We'll see how things go." Derek nods again. The truth is Stiles hasn't even thought of college, he doesn't even know what he wants for dinner, never mind what he wants to do in life. He supposes he hasn't thought about it much because that would mean accepting the idea of leaving Scott behind. He doesn't know if he'd have the heart, not that Scott would even stand for him staying.
"I never finished," Derek continues, thankfully pulling Stiles away from his thoughts. He pushes them away, he'll deal with them later when he's not talking to some stranger.
"College?" Stiles asks.
"High school." Stiles feels his eyebrows shoot up before he can stop them, and Derek's eyes follow them up his forehead.
"Sorry," Stiles says, dipping his head. "I always find it strange that people don't finish. Scott barely even got the chance to start." He feels sad all of a sudden, that Scott is missing out on everything that Stiles has been through. Scott would be on first line, he was always good.
Derek nods, like he's a fucking bobblehead, and Stiles barely contain the roll of his eyes, so he moves the conversation forward, sensing an awkward silence on the way.
"So how are thing on your side?" Stiles asks. As disgusting and inhumane as he finds the facility, he's always curious to know the inner workings of the place. He finds it interesting, but aggravating most of the time. What can he says, he's a glutton for punishment.
"Everything's been calm since Isaac got back," he says, and then he looks like he immediately regretted it, judging by how his eyes widen comically and his eyebrows shoot up. Stiles would find it funny if he wasn't so confused.
"How is he?" he asks, and he's not sure if Derek's going to answer. It crushes him that he's responsible for causing Isaac trouble, too, Scott does nothing but talk the guy up. "He's okay, right?"
"Yeah," Derek says, clearing his throat. He's not sure why Derek's become so stilted, but he guesses it's because he knows Stiles is feeling guilty, or because he doesn't know how Isaac is at all. Maybe he just doesn't want to rub it in Stiles' face that the person he cares for actually came back.
This time an awkward silence does fall between them, and Stiles finds himself sitting with his head in his hands. It's when he finally thinks about why Derek is actually here, that he comes to another realization.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," Stiles raises his hands up, palms flat out. "How did you know I was even here?" he points at the other man. "Like. The first time you came here. How did you know? I thought Scott didn't tell anybody. We agreed. Did he tell you?"
Derek takes a long breath in. "Let's just say, subtlety isn't exactly McCall's strong suit." Stiles snorts, but Derek seems more concerned about it than he does find it funny.
"And it only took four years to figure it out, huh?" Stiles winks, and Derek scowls.
"Shut up," he mutters. Stiles gets the sense that there's more bite to it than Derek means there to be. Derek could literally grab him right now and eat him if he so pleased, so he knows he's not actually pissing the guy off. Stiles just gives him a shit-eating grin and Derek dips his gaze to the floor, shaking his head.
Well, not pissing him off that much.
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Happy Holidays!
