Chapter 29: AWOL

Stiles stood in the middle of the hallway. He scanned around the surroundings while fear trickled along his spine. He started to run down the hallway, calling out a name that echoed between the walls.

"Scott!" he yelled. "Scott!"

Stiles stopped when he got to the glass door. He gazed out, but only saw darkness. Nothing resembled Beacon Hills. Where was he? Stiles turned to another hallway, hoping to find another exit. He hurried to the nearest door and tried to open it. No budge. He went to the next and the next, but no door opened.

He became desperate. Frantically, he ran down every hallway he saw, grasping at door handles, but nothing would free him from the maze.

"Scott! Scott! Anybody! Help me!" cried Stiles.

Stiles cursed and ran his fingers through his hair. He tried another door, but like all the others, it did not opened. Stiles leaned against the wall, surrendering to the maze of hallways when he heard someone call his name.

Stiles…Stiles…Stiles

Stiles sat up and glanced around the white bared walls. "Hello?"

Stiles! Stiles!

His name echoed around him and the voice got louder and louder. Suddenly, Stiles felt himself falling and her jerked up to stop the fall. The hallway disappeared and Stiles found himself in his hospital room. He had been dreaming. The minute he woke, a hand grasped his mouth closed and Stiles struggled, his eyes flickered up to see Derek's face.

"Stiles!" he whispered rashly. "Shut up! It's just me."

Stiles stopped wiggling to show he had calmed down. He shoved Derek's hand off his mouth. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. "You don't go creeping in the middle of the night and grab someone."

Derek ignored Stiles' quip. "Where's Scott?"

"What?"

"Do you know where Scott is?" repeated Derek. "I need to talk to him."

Scott rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up in his cot. "Did you try calling him?"

"He's not answering."

"Maybe because he's asleep," said Stiles. "Like the rest of the world…or at least in this town."

"I checked his house idiot," said Derek. "He's not there."

Stiles' face paled considerably and he dropped his head. "Oh no…"

"What?" asked Derek, sharply.

Stiles pushed the covers off. "Scott was planning to find the Originals' hideout and spy on them for information."

Derek let out a frustrated groan. "Why would he do that?"

"On record, I told him it was a bad idea."

Derek glared and Stiles closed his mouth. Derek opened Stiles' window and sniffed the air a few times. Stiles pulled his covers back over him as the night's chill caused his skin to prickle.

"Can you smell him?" asked Stiles.

"No. I'm trying to sense the Original's hideout," informed Derek. "They're about five miles out of the city."

"What's going to happened to Scott if they find him?" questioned Stiles.

"Don't worry about it," said Derek. "I'm going to stop your guys' stupid plan."

"Correction. Scott's plan," said Stiles. "And, I'm coming with you."

Derek spun around. "No. You're staying here."

"No," retorted Stiles. "I'm coming with you. Scott's my friend and I'm getting cabin fever here."

"I'm not taking you with me."

"And you're not leaving without me."

Derek stalked forward to Stiles, his red eyes glowing, but Stiles stood guard. "All I have to do is yell and your furry ass will be in jail." Stiles crossed his arms. "Now, turn around while I change."

Derek fumed, but he turned around as Stiles changed out of his hospital costume. "I'm an Alpha and taking orders from a human. No less Stiles."

"I'm not deaf you know," called Stiles.

"I'm aware and don't care," said Derek.

Stiles finished changing out of his hospital robes and into a pair of jeans and T-shirt that his father left behind days ago. Derek didn't appreciate that Stiles was not tagging along.

"All right," said Stiles. "Let's go."

Derek opened the window fully and his claws came out. Stiles was bewildered. "What are you doing?"

"Scaling down," answered Derek.

"There's a front door," said Stiles. "We just walk out."

Derek rolled his eyes at him. "Yes…because it's normal to see a strange man walk out with a patient in the middle of the night. I thought you were the smarter one?"

Stiles wasn't amused. "Well, can't we get a gurney and a blanket or something? I can hide underneath it and you can pretend to be a nurse. Exit out the back."

"I'm not playing dress-up!"

"How the hell am I going to scale down a building?"

"We're only on the second floor!"

"I still can't scale it," said Stiles, indicting his hospital band. "How am I going to get out?"

Derek glanced around. "Well, looks like you're staying here then."

"I'm not leaving my friend in danger! And, especially with you," said Stiles. "I'm coming with you."

Derek rolled his eyes and frowned. "Find, you'll have to get on my back."

"What?"

"Unless, you're thinking about just jumping out the window?"

"No…no," said Stiles. "I'll just…" Stiles threw his head back and gave a frustrated sigh. "Fine. Piggyback this…whatever."

"I don't like it either," growled Derek. "Now, come on. Don't got all night."

Stiles dragged his feet over to Derek and, his cheeks rosy, wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. "We won't ever talk about this to anybody right?"

"Agreed," said Derek. "Now hold on."

Stiles grabbed his wrists tightly as Derek climbed out the window. He extended his claws out and gripped the bricks. Stiles' legs were now dangling above thirty feet. Derek slowly descended to the ground. His claws scrapped tiny specks of brick and his foot accidently slipped and hit Stiles in the knee. Stiles winced.

"Okay, easy there," he said. "I'm still fragile."

"You're always fragile," grunted Derek. "Now, shut up."

Derek continued his descent to the ground as Stiles watched the grass get closer to his dangling feet. Stiles felt Derek's grizzle rubbing against his wrist and tried to move it away.

As the reached a good distance from the ground, Derek unclawed the wall and fell to the ground. Forgetting about his order to hold tight, Stiles let go of Derek and landed in a heap on the ground, his knee throbbing.

"Oh god…that hurt," Stiles moaned as Derek stood over him.

"I told you to hold on!" barked Derek.

"Yeah, well, I forget when you decided to free fall it," retorted Stiles rolled onto his stomach and tried to push himself into a standing position. "Er…a little help here?"

Derek grumbled as he picked Stiles up and allowed Stiles to lean on him. Derek helped Stiles to his car, half dragging and half supporting Stiles' injured leg. "What's the point of you tagging along if you can't walk?" asked Derek.

"I'm fine," said Stiles. "My knee is just a little hurt from the landing. It'll be fine. I can walk."

They got into Derek's car and Stiles sighed in relief that he was no longer moving again. He buckled his seatbelt as Derek ran the engine.

"When we find Scott and head back to the hospital," said Stiles as Derek pulled out the hospital parking lot. "We're going in through the front door."

"And when we find Scott," said Derek, "I'm going to rip out both your throats with my teeth."

Stiles stared uneasily at Derek, unsure if he meant it or not. But, he remained quiet as they drove down the hilly roads of Beacon Hills toward the supposed Originals' hideout to rescue Scott from a potential dangerous ending.

BREAK

Scott did not remember entering a room with stained walls and moldy carpet. In fact, he could only remember his front door, a pricking sensation in his neck, and a blurred figure.

Scott sat up and examined his surroundings, trying to use his senses to find out where he was and who took him here. Scott went to get up off the floor when he realized that his hands were chained to an old radiator pipe with an unusual pair of handcuffs.

He tried to break the handcuffs, pulled the chains hard against the railings, but with no success. He wolfed out and tried again, but nothing. Not even a slight bent in the chains.

There was one window in the room. The moon's light cascaded on the floor, revealing an unnatural pattern caused by growing black mold spreading across the carpet like leprosy.

Scott tried to move closer to the window in order to get an idea where he was, but his chained hands limited his movement. He could only move five inches in any direction from the radiator.

So, Scott called out. "Hello? Hey! Anyone here? Hello! Derek? Derek!"

Nothing. Not a single sound came from outside the room except for the squeaks of mice Scott could hear from the floor below.

Scott tried again. "Hello! Dad?"

He wondered if his Dad was involved in this charade. He knew his father was hiding something up his sleeve. Did he hire a person to kidnap him and bring him here? Scott grew worried as he thought of his mother returning home to find him missing.

With the strong emotions invading his whole body, Scott wolfed out again and desperately attacked the chairs. He yanked and tugged with all the strength he had, but the chains only jingled the sound of failure.

Scott surrendered and slumped. What are these chains? Did they have some sort of magical ability to hold off any strength? Like unbreakable metal?

Then, Scott came up with an idea. He had seen shows how people get out of handcuffs. He positioned his fingers carefully and, with a deep breath, he broke his thumb.

Grunting in pain and breathing slowly to control himself, he tried to maneuver his hand through the chains when he got stuck again. Scott checked his thumb to see that his werewolf abilities healed his injured thumb. He slacked back against the wall and huffed.

He was trapped.

BREAK

"This is where the Originals are camping at?"

"Yes."

"Wow!" murmured Stiles as he crouched next to Derek behind a fallen log. "They do it style. You might want to take a few notes."

Derek sent a death glare to Stiles. "Or not," added Stiles. "You pick good enough places."

Derek focused back on the mansion. The mansion was an old three-story Châteauesque designed with white stone and white pillars with carved designs at the top as it held up a stone balcony above the entrance way. Its steeply-pitched roof gave it towering affect over Stiles and Derek.

Scott could only imagine how the interior was. "So…is Scott here?"

"I don't know yet," answered Derek. "If Scott went inside, I won't be able to get a scent."

"Can you, um, smell him at all?"

"I can smell a lot of things at the moment, but not his scent at least," responded Derek.

Stiles looked at the mansion, spying at every window and door. Thick curtains covered the white slender with half circles windows that lined the walls. Stiles could see nothing.

"Well, they have the curtains drawn," said Stiles. "Can't see anything."

"That because they don't want to be spied on."

"Smart," said Stiles. "Very clever of them."

"Shut up."

"Okay," uttered Stiles and he waited for Derek to come to a conclusion.

He did wonder if Scott was inside, searching through cabinets and drawers for intelligence. But, Stiles prayed that Scott was not inside and simply crouching behind a log like them.

"Well?" asked Stiles, every minute ticking at his nerves. "Can you sense him?"

Derek's brows tightened. "No. He might be inside, which we'll have to use some sort of distraction."

"Distraction?"

"To get in and out without being ripped to shreds, yeah," said Derek.

"I don't like the sound of that," said Stiles. "Why don't you just howl or something? That'll get Scott's attention right?"

"And the rest of the werewolves currently residing there," snapped Derek. "We don't want their attention Stiles!"

"It's a little too late for that."

Stiles and Derek jumped. They turned around to see Harold standing behind them, looking contempt at the two of them. Stiles grabbed a nearby tree branch and held it out in front of him protectively.

"Stay back!" said Stiles, holding the branch out like a lightsaber. "Or I'll use this."

Harold arched his eyebrows as he dubiously stared at the branch. With a quick snatch of the branch, he crumbled the tree branch into splinters and mulch. Stiles stared at the fallen debris of his weapon.

Stiles stepped behind Derek. "You got this," he said to the Alpha werewolf.

Harold turned his attention to Derek, his eyes darkening to a deep red. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought I gave you specific orders?"

"That's why I'm here," replied Derek, politely. "I'm looking for Scott."

"And your first stop was here?" questioned Harold.

"I tried his house," answered Derek. "And his phone. He didn't answer. Stiles said that he might have come here."

Harold gazed at Stiles. "And why would Scott come here?"

"Because we know your planning something," replied Stiles. "And, to let you know, Scott and I have a good track record on stopping evil people's plans."

"Shut up," said Derek and Harold in union.

Harold turned back to Derek. "So, Scott came here to spy on me? Not a smart move."

"Yeah, well, I believe he might be inside," said Derek. "I can't get a good scent on him being outside."

Harold concentrated and sniffed the air. "He's not here."

"Are you sure?" asked Derek.

Harold frowned. "No offense to your abilities, but mine are better," he said, coldly, "And, he's not here."

"You didn't even go inside?" complained Stiles.

"I don't need to," growled Harold. "I can smell any scent miles away. I know Scott's. He's not anywhere near here."

Stiles' forehead creased into two lines as his nerves tingled. Fear jolted his heart. "Call him again," he said, hitting Derek in the shoulder.

Derek growled at Stiles, but the teenager didn't care. Derek took out his cell phone and dialed Scott. The three waited. Stiles kept fidgeting with every ring. But, it went to Scott's voicemail. Derek hung up.

"He's not answering," said Derek. "Sixth time."

Harold remained composed, but Stiles could see through the façade. Fear dimmed his eyes as the he thought. Stiles noticed anger by the pulsing vein in the Original's neck. Stiles would have been impressed of the Original's self control if he wasn't already occupied by his own fears.

"If Scott's not here," said Stiles, "then, where is he?"

Harold brooded for a moment, before speaking quietly. "Somewhere with someone I don't like."

Stiles gaped at the Original. "Really? That narrows the search."

Harold's eyes fell to slits. "Whoever took Scott either knew our plans ahead of time or knew of Scott's heritage," he said shortly. "My best bet is that they knew of his heritage."

"Only myself, Deaton, and Peter know of Scott's heritage," said Derek, but added. "And Stiles, but who else knows?"

Stiles shrugged innocently when both werewolves stared at him. "I-I don't know! I've been in the hospital! And, I certainly didn't say anything about Scott."

Harold seethed as he tensely spoke. "Well, whoever took him, they're planning something big…and deadly."

BREAK

Scott tried again to remove himself from the chains, but with no avail. He was indeed trapped in the forsaken room. His werewolf abilities had no advantage over the mysterious chains that clasped around his wrists and the radiator. Stiles looked out the window and noticed the sky was now a lighter shade of blue. Dawn has crept up on the horizon and, soon, his mother will notice his absence and panic.

He wished he didn't drag his mother into the supernatural world. Since he was young, he watched his mother struggle to care for him, trying her best to give him the best. He swore to himself that he would do his best to be a good son, so she could have one less worry. But, not as a werewolf, it only seemed to add more stress to their household and his disappearance would be devastation to his mother.

Examining the chains again to find any sort of weakness, the door opened behind Scott. The young werewolf spun around and backed up against the wall. The chains jingled when his hands couldn't continue with Scott's demand. They remained stuck in their position next to the old radiator.

"Easy there," grunted a familiar voice. "Nothing's going to happen to you. You're perfectly safe."

Scott peered at the newcomer. "Mr. Argent?"

Stepping into dawn's light, Gerald Argent stood victorious over Scott. "Morning McCall," he said. "Sleep well?"