Author's Note: Helloooo! A lot of things have come in the past couple of months, so I haven't had much time to edit chapters 9 and 10. I wanted to post a little snippet of chapter 9 and I hope to get the rest of it up soon. Since school has started up again, I won't be posting every Friday, but I promise to update whenever I can. Never fear, it's my goal to finish this story. Hope you like it! :)

Update: Here is Chapter 9! Finally! Physics has taken a lot of my time, but I finally got around to finishing. Thanks for reading :)

Before he even opened his eyes, Stiles knew something wasn't right. During his time in Gotham, he had gotten used to the noise that accompanied city life. But there was a stillness in the air that left him unsettled.

Stiles was standing in the middle of a clearing. Tall trees surrounded him on all sides. Above him, he could see the full moon, shining brightly against the night sky. Entranced by its light, he almost couldn't turn away.

"Stiles!"

He recognized that voice. "Scott?"

"Stiles!"

He frantically looked around the clearing. Beyond the trees, he saw a shadowy figure moving in the darkness. Stiles chased after it, traveling deeper into the woods.

"Scott!"

The figure showed no signs of stopping. Stiles tried to keep up, but the thick canopy overhead made it difficult to see. He kept tripping over exposed roots and had to stop himself from wincing when a stray branch scratched his face. Yet, he pushed through it. He was so close. He just had to-

Slam!

"Ow, ow, ow."

He held his injured nose and glared at the offending tree.

"Are you okay, Stiles?"

He turned around. Scott stood in front of him with a concerned look on his face. He was exactly as Stiles remembered. From his floppy hair to the red t-shirt he wore when Stiles left for Gotham. After so many months, he was happy to see him. No, ecstatic.

"I knew we shouldn't have come out here. We're going to get in so much trouble!"

"Scott, what are you talking about?"

"The body! We shouldn't have come looking for the body!"

Scott took something out of his pocket and shakily put it to his mouth. If Stiles wasn't mistaken, it was the same inhaler his friend threw out more than a year ago after being bitten by the alpha. It was all giving him a feeling of deja vu. The woods. The body.

"We're on the preserve, aren't we? Looking for Laura Hale's body."

"Yes! And your dad's going to be here any minute-"

"-to bust us. You said that the last time." Stiles stepped away from Scott. "You're not really here. This isn't real. None of it is." He paused. "Am I dreaming?"

Scott's usually expressive face turned blank. His eyes no longer held their familiar warmth but an emptiness that frightened him. "This isn't a dream, Mieczyslaw."

Stiles flinched at the sound of his name. Scott could never pronounce it right.

"Then what is this?"

Scott walked past him and placed a hand on the tree. "A warning."

Tendrils of blue light escaped from Scott's hand and made their way up the tree, filling every crevice in the bark. Stiles watched as it grew brighter, illuminating the woods around him.

"The Nemeta are sacred places. They are believed to be centers of life and death. You're here because you have something inside of you, Stiles. Something that will change the world."

"There's nothing special about me. You're the one who got bit by a werewolf."

Scott cracked a smile, but Stiles could see that it didn't reach his eyes. "That's creepy, you know."

His friend shook his head and beckoned him over to the tree. Stiles hesitated but did what he asked. As he got closer, he could hear a soft thrum emanating from within. It was almost like it was calling to him with a sweet melody. He reached out and placed his palm on the bark.

The effect was almost immediate. A rush of energy coursed through him, awakening everything in its path. He felt lighter than he had in a long time. Freer.

Suddenly, he heard a crack of lightning, causing him to recoil away from the tree. The blue light around Scott's hand dissipated, leaving behind a black stain that spread to the rest of the tree like an infection.

"It grows every day in strength. His power. You can't let him find you. The man with no face."

The man with no face. Stiles thought back to the surveillance video he saw on Parrish's laptop. The man who framed his father. Could it be him?

"Why can't he find me?"

"I have no more time. You have to go."

"Wait! Why can't he find me? Who is he?" Stiles asked.

Scott closed the gap between them and grabbed his shoulder. "Wake up, Stiles."

"Wake up!"

Stiles' eyes fluttered open. He found himself lying on a bench, his arms wrapped tightly around his duffel bag. From what he could tell, it was early in the morning; the sky was tinted with an orange hue, and he could faintly smell the dew on the grass beneath him.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed himself into a sitting position. Scott, the nemeton-had it all been a dream?

The stress must be catching up with him. It had been months since his dad was arrested, and he was no closer to finding out who, or what, framed him. Not to mention his deal with-

Crap. He shot up from the bench, dropping his duffel bag on the ground. The Russians. He felt his heart skip a beat. Since the jewelry heist, he had been trying to come up with ways to impress Sergei. So far, nothing. He had no idea where to start, and he was running out of time. Sergei made it perfectly clear what would happen if he didn't deliver.

He moved to pick up his duffel bag, pausing when he saw glass shards in the grass. He inspected one of the shards and looked up; the bulb from the lamp post had shattered. Odd. He didn't remember it being broken. Stiles stared at it for a moment before grabbing his bag and heading towards the city's streets.

Gotham was a big city, and it was easy to get lost. But Stiles had become adept at finding his way around. He let his feet take him along a familiar path, passing various storefronts and street vendors. People were already out and about, rushing in all directions to wherever they needed to be.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he spotted a small fruit stand at the end of the sidewalk. A van was parked behind it, and he could hear someone shuffling inside.

"Luis?"

"Derek! Would you mind helping me with these boxes?"

Stiles walked around to the back of the van. The old man was struggling with a stack of apples, and he could see his face was getting red from exertion. Stiles quickly took it from him, an action he could tell was much appreciated.

"How's business, Luis?"

"Good, good. How have you been? I haven't seen you in awhile."

Stiles set the box on the table. "Uh, I've been keeping myself busy, you know...here and there," he said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Not too busy, I hope. I could always use the help. Here, take this."

Luis reached a hand into his green apron, pulling out a wad of crumpled dollar bills. "Oh, you don't have-"

"Take it. It's the least that I can do, Derek."

After a moment's hesitation, Stiles accepted the money, the earnest look on Luis' face making it hard to refuse. The elderly fruit seller always worried about him. The day they met, he had run out of money and ended up searching for work. Luis was the only person who didn't look at him like he was going to rob him blind, and even gave him small jobs from time to time.

"And take an apple too! You're too skinny."

His stomach decided that it was the perfect time to make itself known. Luis put the apple in his hand, preempting any objections from Stiles.

"Thanks. I promise that I will find a way to pay you back." He said, feeling a little guilty that Luis was giving him so much. "I gotta get going, but I'll be back soon. Que tengas un buen dia!"

"Hey, you're getting better at your Spanish. Usted tambien, Derek."

Stiles waved goodbye and went to wait at the crosswalk. When the signal to walk lit up, he weaved his way through the crowd, taking a couple bites from his apple. Alone again, he focused on his current predicament.

He could rob a bank, but as much as he joked about actually doing it, he wasn't sure he could really pull it off. There was also the risk of someone getting hurt, himself included.

He turned the corner, and as he was walking by the museum, a green banner caught his eye. On it, in black lettering, it said, New to the Hall of Gemstones: the Cat's Eye Emerald.

Now that was an idea. Stiles hurried up the steps and pushed his way through the revolving door. Inside, long, white columns lined either side of the room, and at its center, was the giant skeleton of a t-rex. Stiles approached the ticket counter, behind a large group of teenagers on a field trip. While the teacher was distracted at the front, he took the opportunity to slip in between them.

"Okay, everyone. We have about two hours. Please stay with the tour group, so we can have time to get through all the exhibits. I do not want to waste time looking for anyone."

"Alrighty." The tour guide up ahead gave them a smile, "First stop, Ancient Civilizations."

Stiles pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, keeping to the back of the group as he followed them from hall to hall. At some exhibits he was tempted to stay, staring in awe at the larger-than-life displays. There were Incan artifacts, ancient greek sculptures, and even an enormous replica of the Great Sphinx of Giza.

Finally, the tour guide ushered them into a dark room: the Hall of Gemstones. Along the walls, there were various glass display cases, with only a dim light illuminating them from above. Rubies, diamonds, and all types of precious gemstones. But his attention was fixed on the display case in the back of the room. The Cat's Eye Emerald. It was more beautiful than what he had expected. It almost seemed to glow as the light reflected off it's green surface. He stood in the front of the group, only half listening as the tour guide spoke.

"The Cat's Eye Emerald is rumored to have belonged to a Mexican Empress. It's net worth is around three million. Pretty cool, huh guys?"

He turned his head sharply. Three million dollars? He didn't think it was worth that much. A couple thousand maybe, but not three million dollars. He was filled with a sudden feeling of dread. It would be more than enough to satisfy Sergei, but it also highered the stakes. If he did this, there would be no going back.

Had he really gotten that desperate?

Yes. Yes, he had. Davies had fought hard in the courtroom, but the cards were stacked against him. His dad was convicted a couple of days ago. The jury had taken only two hours to hand down his sentence: life in prison. It was like a sucker punch to the gut. Not only was he fighting to prove his dad's innocence but the chance to ever be together again. It was up to him now. All he needed to do was get the emerald out of the museum. How hard could it be?

Stiles scanned the room. He counted four cameras; one was focused on the emerald, while the other three panned the rest of the room. He could sneak in at night, when the museum was empty and only a few night watchmen would be around.

"I think you're forgetting the silent alarm."

Stiles spun around; a woman with short hair and a black leather jacket was leaning against the wall.

"And the motion sensors."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He said, hoping it wasn't one of the museum personnel. He pointed at the tour group that was making its way to the exit. "I'm with them, so.."

The woman raised her brows in disbelief. "I think you do know, and you're definitely not with them. You look like you haven't had a decent meal in weeks. You're clothes are dirty and full of holes. I know a street kid when I see one. Just so you know, it's not going to be as easy as you think. It's a big job for an amateur. Usually you build up to this sort of thing."

"Amateur?" The way she had said the word, as if excluding herself, made everything click into place. "You want to-!"

"Shhh. Not so loud." She said, linking arms with him. They walked out of the Hall of Gemstones and past the tour group.

"You want to," he started again but in a whisper, "steal the emerald, too."

"What gave you that idea?"

She led them to a secluded area of the museum.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe your intimate knowledge of museum security."

"Ha, ha. You're funny. I've been watching you. Not many people have the guts to take on a place like this. Especially a place like this. The previous owner, Philip Kane, was a paranoid man. Made sure security was top notch. While you're not exactly a master thief, you have…potential. If you want to learn a thing or two, meet me here after dark."

Stiles unhooked his arm from hers, "Why would you help me? You don't even know me."

"You can call me Cat. What's your name?"

"Derek."

"Well, Derek. Now we know each other. Look, I'm doing you a favor because I've been where you're at. You're not getting inside the museum without my help. Once we get the emerald, I'll even give you a share. What do you say?"

Cat was right, he would never get in by himself. It was a good offer. Too good, in fact. She could have an ulterior motive for helping him, one that didn't end well for him. And who's to say she would give him a fair share. Stiles needed it to prove himself, and more importantly, he needed it for his dad. He let out a deep breath. It was a risk he would have to take.

"Okay."

Cat patted him on the shoulder, "Good. I'll see you then."

And then she disappeared into another exhibit. Stiles decided it was time to leave, too, and made his way towards the front of the museum.

"Stiles! Is that you?"

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder and saw Tim running in his direction. After his initial shock wore off, he hurried towards the exit.

"Stiles, wait!"

"Leave me alone, Tim!"

Stiles jerked forwards as a pair of arms wrapped around him. He tried to get out of the hold but Tim only tightened his grip. "No, Stiles! You're not running out on me! Not again," Tim said, whispering the last part under his breath.

Stiles gave up, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Tim hesitantly let go and stepped back. "Tim-

"Let me say something first, Stiles." Tim looked at him with a steely resolve. "I understand why you left, I mean, I'm not mad about that-"

"Tim-

"No, let me finish. I'm mad that you left without even giving me a chance to help you! You just dropped off the face off the earth. Alfred's worried sick; he waits at the gate every day, hoping you come back. Bruce keeps to himself, and no one wants to tell me what the hell is going on," Tim sucked in a breath, "I thought you trusted me. I thought we were friends."

Stiles stared at Tim. He didn't know what to say. Before he could think of anything, Tim dug around in his backpack and handed him his cell phone. "Take it. I know you left yours at the manor. I can always get another one. If you need anything, or if you just want to talk...I won't make you come back, but I'm here for you, Stiles."

"Tim get back with the group!"

"I guess I gotta go. Call me, please." Tim said before jogging back to the crowd of students.

Stiles tucked the cell phone in his pocket, guilt gnawing away at him. He couldn't go back. Not yet.

"Blackgate Penitentiary, sir."

The car came to a stop in front of the looming fortress. Blackgate was Gotham's worst kept secret. Ripe with corruption, the ACLU tried multiple times to shut it down. The only reason it stayed open was because the city needed a place to keep the worst of the worst.

John Stilinski's indictment and subsequent conviction landed him in Blackgate. But his life sentence might as well have been a signed death warrant.

He was surrounded by people he helped put away. People who had the connections and the means to make an accident befall him.

"Master Bruce, would it not be wiser to tell Mr. Stilinski what his son is really up to?"

"No," Bruce said. "What he needs to focus on right now is survival. Telling him will only distract him."

Through the rearview mirror, he could see the discontent in Alfred's eyes. They had had the same argument before, and while he felt guilty about not telling John the reasons behind Stiles running away, he knew it wouldn't do any good. John was in prison; there was nothing he could do.

"He has a right to know. What if it was Master Dick or Tim?"

"I would want to know." He admitted. "But Stiles isn't going to come back just because I ask him to. I can't guarantee him that his father's conviction will be overturned. He's going to stay out there until he has answers. John doesn't need that hanging over his head."

Bruce pushed the door open and stepped out. Alfred quickly walked around the front of the car to meet him.

"When he was entrusted to us by Mr. Stilinski, we swore to protect him. But you seem to have given up on him. How do you know you won't be able to convince him? You haven't even tried talking to the boy, Master Bruce!"

"And say what? That I've seen firsthand how corrupt, how dangerous, Mario Falcone and his people are. How would I explain that without revealing that I'm the Batman? You know that's not an option."

"I shudder to think what would happen if he crossed that man, and I would never forgive myself if there was something I could do to prevent it. He is a child, Master Bruce. He is untrained, foolish, even. You gave up your life to be the Batman, sir! For your mission. What Stiles needs is guidance, guidance that Jason needed."

"Don't you dare bring Jason into this."

"It has everything to do with Jason! It's the reason you kept an eye on him after his father was arrested. Why you invited him to the manor. Yet you keep him at arm's length when you are the only one who can help him. You're afraid that no matter what you do he's going to end up like Jason anyways."

Bruce clenched his fists by his sides. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

Slap!

He raised a hand to his stinging cheek. Alfred's eyes were wide with shock. "I apologize, sir. But don't presume that I don't know what I am talking about. Jason was important to me, too. As is Stiles."

"There's no need to apologize," Bruce said. "You only said what you thought was right."

He turned on his heel and left his butler by the car. Alfred had struck a nerve. There wasn't a day he didn't think of Jason, and as he walked through Blackgate to visitations, a wave of grief washed over him. But he was quick to compose himself when the guard buzzed him through the door. He sat in front of the glass partition, where John was already waiting for him.

He had a busted lip and had deep purple bruises on his face. There was also a wariness in his eyes, a telltale sign of a man who'd seen too much.

Bruce picked up the phone, and John reached for his own.

"He hasn't come back?"

"No," Bruce cast his eyes down, "I'm sorry."

John sighed into the phone. "It's not your fault. He's a stubborn kid."

Bruce let out a small laugh. "I wonder where he gets it from."

"Oh, you mean these," John pointed at his bruises. "You should see the other guys."

"Were they Black Mask's people again?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah. Not too fond of cops. But don't worry about me. I can handle myself."

"I don't doubt that." Bruce said, recalling an earlier conversation where John had mentioned being ex-military.

John leaned on the metal table with his elbow, his hand holding his head. "I don't know how any of this happened. The move to Gotham was supposed to be a fresh start. I know Gotham isn't perfect, but it's definitely changed since my wife and I were here last. I never thought I would end up here, and leave Stiles all by himself."

"It's not over yet. Malcolm and I, we're appealing your case. We won't stop until we've exhausted every avenue in the courts."

"Bruce," John said with a quiver in his voice, "thank you for everything you've done for me. And for Stiles. He's my entire world. Has been since the moment we knew he was coming. I won't give up the hope of seeing him on the other side of these bars."

John turned his head towards the guard behind him, "My time's up. I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for coming, I don't get many visitors. Tell me if you hear anything from Stiles."

"I will. Goodbye, John." He hung up the phone, and after John had left, Bruce went back to the car.

Alfred opened the car door, "Master Bruce."

"Alfred," Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder, "you were right. I haven't been doing enough. That's going to change."

"I am glad to hear that, sir."