Note: Yo, so this is to celebrate my 1k follower milestone on tumblr. It's premise is kinda based off of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne, with some obvious changes to suit the universe. It's not beta'd, but it should be fine. If there's any errors let me know. There's no actual interaction between Stiles and Derek just yet, this chapter is basically just setting the premise. Enjoy!
Stiles leaves Allison's just as it turns nine o'clock. It's dark out already, and it's cold enough to see his breath billow out his mouth. He zips up his hoodie as he makes his way to the jeep, throwing his back pack into the back seat.
The growl of his stomach gives the growl of the engine a run for its money, and all he wants to do now is heat up the lasagne at home and curl up in bed and watch Parks and Rec. He hums at the plan, reversing out of the driveway.
His plan comes to an abrupt end with a splutter from the engine, and then car is suddenly slowing down.
"No, no, no, no, no," he whines, pulling onto the side of the road. He shoves at the wheel with his palm, sinking into his seat sighing. "Great, that's just great."
He grabs his back pack from the back seat and gets out of the car, popping the hood to take a look. It takes about two minutes of huffing while rooting around the engine to realise he has no fucking idea what he's even looking at before slamming the hood back down again.
He rests his elbows on the hood, head in his hands, only now taking in his surroundings. He's on a road in the middle of the woods, in the dead of night, with a broken down jeep. To make it worse, the doors locked, and his keys are inside.
Scratch that, he's on a road in the middle of the woods, in the dead of night, with a broken down jeep, stranded. He rests his forehead against the window, steadying out his aggravated breaths.
"Could it get any worse?" he says to nobody in particular. Hopefully. As if on cue a droplet of rain hits the back of his neck, followed by a roar of thunder. If he screams with rage after that, well, he's the only one around to hear it.
He quickly, reluctantly, calls his dad, and he agrees to come pick him up straight away. Apparently, even after the rain, his night could get even worse. His attention is caught by a swirl of blue light in the distance.
It disappears almost as quickly as it showed up, and it was moving fast. He quirks an eyebrow, choosing to hold his back pack over his head rather than investigate the dark, creepy woods and whatever inhabits it.
His father arrives within the next few minutes, and if this is the first time he's thankful to see his father in years, well, he's not going to say it out loud. He quickly hops in, throwing his bag in the backseat and offers his thanks.
The silence that hangs between him and his father is long and awkward, and speaks for the years of tension left to resonate between them. The only sounds are the pitter-patter of rain hitting the windshield and the low hum of the engine.
Not even Stiles can think of a way to fill the silence, not that he expected any chatter between them in the first place.
He sits hunched in his seat staring out the window, completely avoiding the sight of his father next to him. It's pointless, there's nothing to see only rain drops running down the window and the forest completely covered by darkness.
He sighs as his phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he takes it out it's from Danny. It's a simple text for such a complex plan.
From: Danny
5:30 tomorrow
His father doesn't even glance over at him as he pushes the phone back in his pocket without responding, doesn't even ask about the text. Stiles is glad of it, he doesn't want the only thing he says to his father tonight to be a lie.
Instead, he sits quietly and drums his fingers against the door, looking anywhere but too far left. His attention is immediately brought to the radio when it sounds, and his father's head quickly turns to it.
"Attention all officers, a TH51 has been sighted entering the Beacon Hills Preserve. I repeat, a TH51 at the Beacon Hills Preserve. White male, bald, six feet tall." His father immediately pulls the radio to his mouth.
"On it," is all he says before turning on the sirens to the cruiser and increasing speed. Stiles has listened in on enough of his father's calls to know what a TH51 is.
"You can't do this," Stiles says, sitting up. His father quickly glances over at him but doesn't respond as he picks up speed. "Dad, you can't do this!"
"Stiles, I'm not having this conversation anymore. It's my job to keep this town safe, no matter the circumstances."
"What, even if it means imprisoning an innocent person?" he argues, even though he knows his efforts will be in futile.
"It isn't a prison, Stiles, it's a facility." Stiles scoffs at his father's ignorance. "They're brought there for a reason; to get help!" Stiles gives him a levelling look, his father seemingly unaffected.
"They're still people, they don't deserve this kind of treatment."
"Tell that to the families of all the people they've killed."
"You mean you've killed." His father's eyes widen at him, and Stiles realizes that he's probably gone too far. His father doesn't open his mouth for what feels like an eternity, a heavy silence filling the air.
"We're helping them," he says evenly. "Both the infected and the uninfected."
Stiles is about to argue his point when the car suddenly comes to a stop, his father raising a hand in protest when Stiles opens his mouth to speak. Stiles abruptly shuts it.
"I'm not having this conversation anymore. I have a job to do, regardless of your feelings on the matter. Now stay here and wait for me to come back." His father leaves the car before Stiles can even tell him how he's so not going to wait in the car.
Especially when his father takes something from the trunk and runs passed his window with a rifle in one of his hands. It's almost like he's trying to get Stiles to follow him. He waits and counts up twenty agonizing seconds before following him into the woods.
As he runs he regrets his decision to not have thought to bring a jacket. He's freezing and wet, but it doesn't deter him. He pushes himself further, squinting to focus on his father's dark figure in the distance. He steps over a root sticking out of the ground and shimmies through the tight gap between two trees.
It's when he's sure he's lost track of his father when he hears a gunshot ahead of him and a distant snarl. Stiles pauses before immediately giving chase again. He almost slips in the mud as he sprints down a steep hill.
When he comes to the bottom he sees his father standing fifty feet away from him, aiming his rifle at the man in the distance and fires.
"No, wait!" he calls, but his father ignores him in favour of giving chase yet again. The guy has slowed down significantly as his father draws nearer. He runs into a small clearing and his father pauses when the man stops running. There's barely a second between the sound of a shot and the howl that comes from him.
"Dad!" he calls, but his father hurries to the small clearing and roughly tugs the man to his knees, his clothes and face all plastered in mud. Stiles stops at the edge of the clearing, knowing there's nothing he can do now.
The man's eyes glow a pale blue in the dark, and large tufts of hair stick out from both sides of his face. There's a bullet hole in his leg, and his white tee shirt is collecting blood where his father must have nicked him the first time.
The bullets must have been wolf's bane, it's the only way they can be slowed down. He looks so helpless where he's kneeling on the wet ground, clothes plastered in mud and blood. He looks angry, his brow furrowed in a way they always are.
He sees a flash of red and blue lights in the distance, they must be near a road, and the faint sound of sirens draw closer. His father tightens a pair of silver handcuffs around the man's wrist, jerking back when the man snaps his large fangs at him.
"This," he points to the man's snapping mouth, "is why they're dangerous". Stiles doesn't reply as he watches more officers arrive, some of them wearing a different uniform that belongs to the ATC.
They quickly haul the man to his feet, roughly shoving him forward towards the van in the distance. One of them hangs back to shake his father's hand, offering his thanks before they both begin walking in the same direction to the van.
Stiles joins them, keeping to the back of the group as they reach the armoured van and the accompanying police cars. The side of the van reads 'ATC: Argent Therianthropy Control'. Even the sight of his name has Stiles' stomach turning, and he wants nothing more now than to be anywhere but here.
He's pulled from his thoughts when one of the workers approaches him when they come to a stop. He offers his hand, to which Stiles barely refrains from slapping away, shaking it instead with a tight smile.
"You and your father did good tonight, kid," he says, like his father has just done some sort of good deed for the community. These people make him sick. Stiles nods once, something the man must mistake for fear, because suddenly he's gripping his shoulder.
"Don't worry, it's going to get help. It can't hurt you." It is a person, he wants to bite back, but his thoughts are interrupted when the man in handcuffs tries to resist, but is quickly pistol whipped and pushed into a seat in the back of the van.
He swipes his claws at an ATC worker who ties chains attached to the floor around his handcuffs. They close the door on his vicious snarl, and Stiles wants to hurl.
The guy offers him a smile, taking Stiles' hand and closing it around a brochure. "Be safe," he says, and offers his father a nod before getting into the van.
He and his father watch the ATC van leave with the other police cars in silence. When they're out of sight, his father wordlessly turns around and heads back for the car. Stiles doesn't follow, instead walking in the opposite direction of his father.
He can't stand the sight of him right now. He looks down at the brochure. 'The Therianthropy Virus' it reads in bold letters, followed by bullet points of information on it, like they're some kind of sick individuals.
If Stiles stops twice to puke, well, only the owls are around to judge him.
::: :::
Derek Hale is infected with the Therianthropy Virus. Therianthropy; the Greek term, when translated, means 'wild animal'. Another translation, as most would describe it, is 'beast'.
The discovery came roughly five years ago, maybe less. It was classed as a mutation of the rabies virus that was originally carried by wolves. The Therianthropy Virus is an infection in the bloodstream passed on to humans through the bite or the scratch of rabid wolves. That's what they were led to believe, anyway.
Once carried by a human, it could then be transferred to another through the same means. Symptoms included mental instability, deformed facial features, surges in energy and strength and a change in eye color. The most important signs of this infection are the elongation of finger nails and teeth.
Treatment has been carried out by an organization by the name 'ATC: Argent Therianthropy Control.' Once infected, patients are immediately transferred to an ATC Facility of Rehabilitation and housed there until a cure can be found.
Obviously there is no cure, because all of this is a lie. There is no infection, no disease, and certainly no virus.
Derek Hale is a werewolf, or as the world likes to call him, a Therianthrope. 'Infection'? Derek prefers 'gift'. 'Argent Therianthropy Control'? Derek uses the term 'hunters'. 'Facility of Rehabilitation'? Well, let's just say it's more of a prison than a facility, and it's where Derek's lived for four years now.
There was an accident here last night, more of a tragedy actually. Greenberg hadn't been taking his 'medication' apparently. Medication, as in wolf's bane pills designed to limit their abilities. It weakens them, their strength, and they can't heal as fast as they could. It affect their senses too, although alpha's to a lesser degree.
It takes away the animal in them, the half of their soul that makes them different to humans. Derek's sure they're the only reason they're allowed to walk freely around the place, so he takes it.
And Greenberg, like the idiot that he was, thought that after three years of not shifting he would be able to do it perfectly in the hopes of escaping. Derek's seen it happen countless times before, even Greenberg has.
But the thing is, when you haven't shifted in so long, your body forgets how to do it. Its different this time, you lose control like a wolf without an anchor, or a newly turned beta without its alpha. Instead of shifting into a werewolf, you turn into a raging, out of control monster.
Even the alpha's like Derek or even Satomi would have trouble shifting. Even Peter, an alpha, couldn't keep himself in control without an anchor. Greenberg was just an omega, he didn't stand a chance.
It came out of nowhere last night, it was after curfew, and Derek was lying in bed. One second there was utter silence, and then chaos. A loud, animal-like roar rung through the facility, and Derek was sure his bed shook with it.
He was on his feet in seconds, ear pressed against the cold, steel door of his cell.
There was a sharp thud, a screech of metal, followed by another clearer roar that sounded so similar to Peter that Derek had trembled with it. Memories of the fire flooded his thoughts, and before he even realize, he was curled in on himself on his bed.
There were no characteristics associated with that roar, nothing Greenberg about it. It was the same with Peter. It sounded monstrous, but he supposes that's all they are once they go feral, nothing of the person they once were. Nobody behind the fangs and glowing eyes, just uncontrollable rage.
His ears rung when the gunfire came, he didn't stand a chance, and flashes of the day of the fire clouded his vision that looked and sounded so real that he could have sworn he was still there. The gunfire came to an abrupt end, and so did the screeching of metal and low snarls.
He wonders if that's the same fate Peter was dealt. Just a bullet to the head without a second thought to spare. He hasn't seen Peter since the day they were admitted, so his hunch is probably reality.
His mind stayed with Peter all night, and after hours of tossing and turning he drifted off into a restless sleep. He's surprised he got any sleep at all, but when he did he had nightmares that he can remember vividly. It's the same recurring nightmare he's had since the day he came here.
His dream was clouded with thick, black smoke that filled his lungs with every inhale. There was nothing in his sight only falling sparks and an orange haze highlighting the blinding smoke. The sound of crackling wood of his home and the screams of his burning family surrounded him.
A wild roar- Peter- came from the distance, and then there was silence.
Derek woke in a cold sweat, jerking upright and panting for clean oxygen with tear-stained cheeks. He frantically glanced around the room, eye flicking every which way as he tried to make sense of the dark. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and he sighed as he dropped down onto the pillow, still panting.
The sun was only beginning to rise, an orange glow advancing on the night sky. He didn't even try and go back to sleep, he never can after that particular nightmare. Instead, he got out of bed and dropped to the floor, doing push-ups to relieve some pent-up energy.
He was running on adrenaline, and he didn't stop until he could barely feel his arms anymore. It's been a while since he's had this dream, and he doesn't doubt that it was last night that caused it to plague him again.
When he stands back up again, he remakes his bed and sits at the end of it, bare feet resting on the cold, hard floor. He bent down and reached under the bed for his box of belongings. It's just a cardboard box with a piece of paper inside, he didn't have anything on him the day he came here.
He rests the box on his lap, pulling off the lid and taking out the folded piece of paper. He opens it, some of the ink faded from fallen tear drops and the page itself yellowing with age. It's not as dark anymore, the early morning sun illuminating the room enough for him to make out the words.
To whom it may concern,
It is our deepest regret to inform you that on the afternoon of April 27th 2010, Peter Hale of 117 Oakwood Lane, born November 19th 1975, was diagnosed with the Therianthropy Virus. He has since been moved to a secure ATC Facility of Rehabilitation located in Beacon Hills.
Argent Therianthropy Control provides the highest standard of accommodation for all of its patients. We pride ourselves on the quality of facilities that we have to offer. All treatment and studies are carried out in a way that is both safe and comfortable for the individual. Rest assured, our patients are in safe hands.
Due to the nature of the Therianthropy Virus, any and all form of communication with patients is strictly prohibited. There will be no exceptions. Please refrain from trying to contact a loved one during their stay in our facility. This includes letters, phone calls and personal visits.
If you have any information to provide to the ATC, please do not hesitate to get in contact through any means as listed on the back of this letter. For more information on the Therianthropy Virus, see the pamphlet accompanied with this letter.
Once again, you have our condolences on the matter.
Sincerely,
Gerard Argent,
Founder and Head of the ATC.
Derek sighs, staring at it for a long time before he folds it back over twice and puts it back under the bed in its box. That could have easily been the thousandth time he's read that letter. He scoots back up the bed and lies on his side, resting his head on his pillow.
When a relative is admitted to the facility it's always a letter, never a personal visit, not even a phone call. Nothing but a letter and a pamphlet of information to go with it. It's cold and impersonal, but he wouldn't have expected anything different from an organization run by Gerard Argent. He doesn't know why he even got a letter considering he came here with Peter.
He knows what it meant, though, the harsh truth that he was the last Hale left alive. That there was nobody on the outside to send it to, that not even Peter's wife and kids had survived the fire. He knew his parents and Laura were dead, why else would he be the alpha?
He wonders if Peter got a letter, too. He wonders if they ever got him to calm down, or if he even lived long enough to receive a letter at all. He knows the odds are slim. He sighs at nobody in particular, alphas aren't allowed to have cellmates.
He closes his eyes and doesn't open them until he hears the door unlocking. His eyes open to a now brightly-lit room, and he rolls over to see the same old cracked ceiling that's greeted him every morning. The walls are dull and grey, and the bed sheets are a faded navy blue.
When the door finally opens he's greeted with the faint but uninviting twang of burnt metal and blood. Greenberg's blood, no doubt. The usual nurse approaches him as he sits up, but makes no move to leave once he takes the grey cup out of her hand. He looks down at the purple wolf's bane pill, the same one Greenberg hadn't been taking.
His instincts scream for him to get away from it, the scent of it tearing his throat and lungs like a knife with every breath. He holds the cup with quivering hands, lip trembling as the cup reaches his mouth. The nurse watches him, unmoving still.
He rolls his eyes out of her sight and tilts his head back, swallowing the pill and feeling it burn his insides as it passes through his system. When she seems satisfied she moves on to the next cell. Last night must have been bad if they're being monitored over it.
He quickly throws a shirt on and makes his way out into the hall, and if last night didn't seem real enough, the sight before him definitely is. A piece of jagged metal that was formerly Greenberg's cell door sits in the middle of the hallway, nothing but hinges left at the doorway of the cell.
Deep, thick scratches line the floor, walls and ceiling, which are all coated with streaks and drops of blood. It makes him want to throw up, but on the bright side, they had the decency to move his body.
He wonders what happened to his roommate Jared.
He glances at all the debris, supposing there's a reason behind why it hasn't been cleaned up yet. He knows this is a message, telling all the wolves that this is what happens when you don't follow the rules. They're big on setting examples like that. He hopes to God everyone listens.
When the reality of what happened hits him, he quickly tears himself away from the mess and moves down the hall. His heartbeat echoes in his ears as he picks up the pace, willing the anxiety pooling in his stomach away.
He heads to the cafeteria without an ounce of hunger, his stomach already full with the feeling of dread.
The heavy steel doors to the cafeteria slide open, and he immediately spots his make-shift pack across the room. Erica, Isaac and Boyd are all huddled around their usual table. Seeing his betas soothes him significantly, and he takes the seat next to Isaac across from Boyd and Erica.
"You hear the news?" Boyd asks in lieu of an actual greeting. He sighs quietly, he should have known last night's events would have been the gossip of the whole facility.
"Hear it? I saw it." All three raise their eyebrows in shock, and honestly, he thought everyone would have known by now considering how fast word travels in this place. "Blood everywhere." He figured they wouldn't have seen it, Derek's cell is the furthest from the cafeteria.
"I never liked him anyway," Erica responds without an ounce of sympathy. It's a character trait he'll never wrap his head around, how someone so pleasant could be so cold at times.
"Erica!" Isaac scolds, sharing a look with Boyd with an expression that makes it seem like he isn't as outraged as he appears to be.
"What?" she shrugs, taking a mouthful of food. "It's Greenberg. It's not like he'll be missed." Isaac and Boyd chuckle. Derek doesn't find it so funny, but he doesn't say as much. At the end of the day it's another werewolf marked off Gerard Argent's list. One day, it will be their names with a line running through them.
"Derek," Isaac says, snapping him out of his thoughts. Something in his tone suggests it's not the first time he's called him. Isaac gently pulls his fingers away from where he was gripping the table so hard his knuckles were turning white. He hadn't even realized he was doing it. "Want to come get some food?"
"No, um- I'm not hungry," he replies weakly. To Isaac's flat look, he sighs, knowing there's probably an ulterior motive in there somewhere. He unwillingly stands and follows Isaac into the queue, both of them grabbing trays. He taps his fingers against the tray idly as they wait for the queue to move forward.
Isaac is different to the others, he and Derek have had a tightly knit bond since he arrived here. Both of them losing their families and being betrayed by people they love brought them closer together. He's the only person Derek has ever opened up to about his last few months of freedom.
It's something he could never quite include Erica and Boyd in, they wouldn't understand like Isaac does. Isaac's mother died when he was a little boy, and his father blamed him for it ever since. When his father found out he had been bitten he reported Isaac to the ATC.
His brother died trying to protect him, and it's something that hangs on Isaac's shoulders every day. Derek gets it, the overwhelming weight of guilt crushing you. It's hard to keep standing on your own two feet with it, as cliché as it sounds.
"You okay?" Isaac asks over his shoulder, eyes flicking down to where Derek is anxiously tapping against his tray. Derek abruptly stops, clearing his throat as he urges Isaac further down the line.
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure, you seem a little jumpy t-"
"Isaac," he cuts in, a stern warning for him to drop it. "I said I was fine." Isaac stares at him for a moment before swallowing, nodding as he dips his head down and turns.
"Yeah, sorry," he says quietly. "I just- I'm here." Derek sighs, any tension he was feeling dissipating. He pats Isaac's shoulder and rests his hand there for a moment, taking it away with a squeeze, just to show he appreciates the sentiment. Isaac perks up again, a small smile on his face when he glances over his shoulder to Derek.
They walk back to their table in silence, Derek walking by his side empty handed, having abandoned his tray at the end of the queue when Isaac was done. McCall, another omega, rounds one of the tables and walks towards them.
"Hey," he smiles brightly at Isaac as he passes Derek, ignoring his presence completely. It's something he's done for the past four years, and honestly, Derek doesn't blame the kid. There's something different about him today, though, his scent is off.
Isaac smiles back and replies, and once Scott passes them completely he looks over his shoulder at his retreating figure. He takes a deep breath, the faint smell already fading.
"Derek?" Isaac asks. Only now does he realize that he's stopped walking, just standing in the aisle watching McCall. He knew Isaac missed it, his senses aren't strong enough as a beta to notice it. "You okay?"
Derek takes one more glance at McCall before he continues walking. "Fine," he says, ignoring the suspicious look Isaac is giving. He knows that smell.
It was the undeniable, prohibited, sweet smell of sugar.
::: :::
Stiles groans as his alarm sounds for the fourth time this morning. He flings an arm out from where he's curled up in a ball with his blankets wrapped around him like a burrito. He taps around the bedside locker with his extended finger until he finally catches the snooze button on his phone. He hoped that after pressing it four times already it would have taken the hint.
He's exhausted, having coming home late after walking home from the preserve in the blistering cold and rain. His father was already in bed when he came home, which suited him fine because he couldn't face him after what he did.
He immediately jumped in the shower and then sat up late finishing his Econ homework that he planned on doing once his father drove him home last night.
He curls back in on himself, whining when a shimmer of light passes over his face through an opening in the blanket. If he doesn't get up now, he'll definitely be late for school. Considering the time he's spent sleeping in, he'll be lucky to get there before first bell.
"Come on, get up or you'll be late," his father calls in as he passes by the open door and goes in into the bathroom, seemingly forgetting the tension between them and what happened last night. Either that, or he's ignoring it completely.
Stiles rolls onto his back, pouting when he pushes the blanket away from his face so he can breathe again. He squints again at the open curtains, eyes adjusting to the light. Why does the world have to be so bright?
He sighs, willing himself to sit up and climbs out of bed, waiting for his father to finish up in the bathroom and head down the stairs before leaving his bedroom. He pads down the hall in his pyjamas, stretching his arms out with a wide yawn. He opts to skip taking a shower to spare himself some time before school. He took one last night so he should be fine in that department.
When he comes out of the bathroom he hears his father shuffling around loudly downstairs. He shrugs before going back to his room to get dressed. He slips on a black t-shirt, skinny jeans and his converse while simultaneously packing books into his bag.
As he walks down the stairs he's zipping up his backpack while it hangs on one shoulder while trying to put on his red hoodie with his free hand. He bypasses the living room in favour of putting a couple of poptarts in the toaster and rushes through a quick cup of coffee. He saw his father as he passed, looking behind the couch cushions.
He holds his steaming poptarts in a piece of tissue as he heads towards the front door, stopping by the living room when he sees his father crouched on his hands and knees looking under an armchair.
"I'm going to school," he says simply, throwing a thumb towards the door. His father startles, jerking his head up from the floor.
"Okay. You haven't seen my keys anywhere, have you?" Stiles barely contains his disappointed sigh and points to the kitchen instead.
"Have you tried your coffee cup? You usually leave them in there when you're finished." His father watches him in consideration, nodding shortly as he moves to the kitchen without as much as a goodbye.
Stiles watches him leave, taking his keys off the hook and placing his hand on the handle.
"Bye, Dad," he says quietly, his voice small as he opens the door. He waits a moment in the threshold for a response.
"Bye," his father says from the kitchen, too busy looking for his keys to say it to his face or offer a farewell hug. "Have a good day," Son. Kiddo.
Stiles scoffs at his expectations, his father hasn't called him 'son' in years. He quietly closes the door and is surprised to find his jeep in the driveway. His father must have had a deputy drop it off. He gets in, blinking a few times before turning the ignition and reversing out of the driveway.
He arrives at the school fifteen minutes later thanks to a few traffic mishaps, poptarts well and truly eaten. The first bell is just ringing as he hops out of the jeep, quickly crossing the parking lot.
He spots Allison in the distance, coming out of her own car, and he waves, sparing a couple of seconds for her to wave back before dashing for the entrance. He quickly grabs his book from his locker and heads to English.
Thankfully, Miss Blake is late herself, so he slips into his seat next to Lydia before she arrives to class. She offers him a nod, which he returns with a smile as Miss Blake steps into the room.
The day drags on from there, and all he wants to do is get out and go see Scott. It feels like more than just a few hours have passed when the lunch bell rings. He makes his way to the cafeteria and carries his tray of food to the table where his friends are.
Lydia and Jackson sit together on one side of the table, and Allison sits next to Stiles' vacant spot across from Lydia. While he wouldn't exactly call Jackson his friend, they've certainly got passed the whole I-can't-stand-the-sight-of-you phase.
He takes a seat next to Allison who offers him a pleased greeting alongside Lydia. Jackson just nods without stopping mid-sentence to say hi, continuing with some story that only Lydia seems to be invested in.
"Hey, you okay?" Allison nudges his side, pointedly looking at where he's just pushing his food around the tray.
"Yeah," he shrugs. "I'm just a little tired, is all." It's only a half-lie, but somehow he doesn't think she's fallen for it. His suspicions are confirmed when she rises from the table and pulls him to his feet.
"Lydia, you still collecting me later?" Jackson does stop mid-sentence this time when Lydia turns away from him.
"Of course," she says determinedly as Allison intertwines her fingers with Stiles' and drags him away.
"Collect me before five!" he calls, and they both offer him pitiful smiles as Allison pulls him out of the cafeteria completely. They end up on the bleachers, watching Finstock kick up a fuss at the freshman lacrosse team.
He and Scott used to do this when they were freshman, before Stiles joined the team and Scott was taken away in an ATC van. Heckling Coach at lunch time was always a weekly routine with them.
"What's up?" Allison asks after a few minutes of silently watching Coach yell at some kid on the brink of tears. Stiles doesn't answer, doesn't tear his gaze away from the lacrosse field. "Is it Scott?"
The mention of his name has him turning to meet her eyes. He swallows, nodding. "I don't know. Maybe?" he shrugs. Allison grips his hand with hers.
"Stiles, what happened?"
"My dad," is all he says, but from the weak smile Allison gives him, he supposes that it's enough of an explanation. "He caught another one last night."
"Things will get better," she says reassuringly, like she actually believes it.
"You know, I used to think so, too. Now?" he blinks, "I'm not so sure." Allison grips his hands tighter in her own, shifts closer to him as Finstock throws a clipboard at the goalie who bats it away with his crosse.
"Oh, sure, you can catch that," he grumbles. They both laugh, some of the awkwardness fading away.
"I miss him," she says after a long moment of silence. Stiles nods, not turning to look at her, eyes fixed on the distance.
"He misses you, too."
"It's just my dad and my grandfather and-" Stiles shushes her, and she falls silent.
"I know. He knows. He understands what would happen if you got caught. He doesn't want you risking your safety for him." She swallows, staring into his eyes like she'll find some loophole in his words, like they're anything but the truth.
She nods, blinking away tears. "We'll get him out of there. We'll find a way." Stiles smiles sadly at her.
"Do you really think so?"
"I believe so. I know we will," she says determinedly, like she can't not believe it. Stiles wishes he could share her optimism, but somehow, he's not entirely convinced they could pull something like that off.
After four years, they still have yet to find the slightest piece of damning evidence on Gerard. So far he's come up clean in every way possible, the only lead Stiles could think of burned in a fire four years ago.
"Okay," he says quietly, drawing her into a hug that turns into her resting her head against his shoulder, his arm slung around her and rubbing soothing circles into her arm. He thinks she needs this more than he does.
They watch the field where Coach looks like he's about to pull out every hair on his head. They don't move an inch until the next bell signals the end of lunch, and even then they're both reluctant to let go.
Eventually they do part, and Stiles heads for history while Allison and Lydia go to art. He finds some of the tension in his shoulders from this morning already dissipating.
::: :::
It's later on in the afternoon when Isaac catches up with Derek again. Thankfully since then, the workers have cleaned up their little show in the hallway. It's safe to say the message has been well and truly received, so much so that there's word of a meeting going around.
He doesn't think it's likely, there's never been a meeting before, even after a situation like this one. He doesn't know where these rumours even start in the first place, probably with that punk Aiden. He doesn't know how to explain it, the whole facility is just on edge today.
He's been a little off himself today, but that's more to do with the nightmares than anything else. He's been working on pure energy all day, and he felt like he was going to go crazy cooped up in his room. That's when he decided to get out of there and make his way to the exercise yard.
That's where Isaac found him later.
"So, what do you think this means for us" he hears Isaac ask. He's sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Derek as he bench presses in the exercise yard. Derek is still relieving some pent-up nervous energy from the night before. He finds it more therapeutic than any session with Morrell ever will.
Isaac isn't one for really moving much. Isaac's the kind of guy who prefers to just sit around on a couch all day. He didn't ask to be bitten, so he doesn't have much interest in taking advantage of his new abilities.
That, and he doesn't see the point in training if he'll never get the chance to make use of it.
Derek admires his optimism, but Isaac's just that kind of guy. Not to say Derek is any more or less optimistic than Isaac, but he has a secret hope that one day this will all blow over and Gerard Argent will be caught for all the foul play going on in here behind closed doors.
Derek pauses with the weights half way down, putting them back on the stand and sitting up. "What?" he asks, wiping the sweat gathering on his forehead. With the pills, it's a lot easier to get tired. It's something he's still adjusting to, having spent his entire life with supernatural strength.
"The feral," Isaac clarifies, squinting as the sun shines in his eyes. "What do you think it means?" Derek pauses, considering him, before sliding down the bench to make room for him. He joins Derek on the bench, patiently waiting as Derek considers an answer that won't cause him too much anxiety.
"I don't know," is all he can say, because it's the truth. The facility can be random and somewhat unpredictable with their punishments. He doesn't know if they're even going to get punished for it.
Although, this facility seems to be a punish-one-punish-all kind of place.
"You've seen it before, though, right?" he asks hopefully. Maybe he's searching for some kind of hope that Derek's still here after five or six feral incidents. Honestly, that doesn't mean anything, the guards could open fire at them at any time and probably receive no repercussions over it.
"More than I'd care to count," he says bluntly. "Although, I can't imagine their patience with us is what it used to be." Sometimes Derek forgets just how new to the facility Isaac is. He's never experienced something like this before, and he's already timid enough as it is. Years of abuse can do that to a kid. He remembers being scared after the first incident, too.
"What usually happens after something like this?"
"Silence. We've never actually been addressed, the consequences usually just creep in eventually." Isaac considers him.
"Like what?"
"They've already amped up security," he says quietly, glancing at all the guards lined up against the wall of the yard. "They'll get stricter, they're already monitoring us in the mornings when we take our pill."
"Have you ever been punished?"
"For a feral? No," he says simply. "But like I said, their patience is probably wearing thin. I'm not gonna lie, Isaac, what happened last night? It could affect all of us." Isaac visibly tenses, staring forward. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."
Isaac nods stiffly but doesn't otherwise move. They sit in uncomfortable silence, watching the others work-out. He sees one of the twins, Aiden, watching him, but he ignores him entirely.
He's an alpha, and he's always tried to give Derek grief. He's probably trying to tune his weakened hearing to listen in on them. His brother sits beside him lifting weights, not paying attention to anything of interest. Ethan's never been a problem, just the other prick.
"Aren't you afraid?" Isaac asks, breaking the silence. He sounds angry, but not at Derek, just at the situation in hand. Derek stays silent for a long while, already knowing the answer.
"No," he says. The look Isaac gives him tells him he doesn't need to further explain himself, so he sighs and rests his elbows on his knees, head resting in his open palms.
The truth is, Derek isn't afraid. He's not scared of anything in here, or anyone in here for that matter. There's no fear of this place in him, just the undying hatred of everything about it, but no fear. The only thing he's afraid of is dying of old age in this place, having lived a life of wrongful imprisonment, but not death itself.
He's not afraid to die, not if it puts an end to the misery.
He's pulled from his own morbid thoughts when his eyes move to McCall, who's walking out of the main facility. He's still a little suspicious about this morning, and a little curious. Okay, a lot of both, actually. How the hell does anyone get something like that in this place?
"You didn't notice it this morning, did you?" he asks vaguely. Isaac perks up next to him, his brows furrowing in confusion.
"Hm?"
"McCall. We passed him in the cafeteria earlier, but you couldn't scent him, could you?"
"No," he says slowly. "Why?" They both look over at Scott, who's now leaning against the concrete wall that extends out from the facility. "What did he smell like?"
Derek glances around, making sure nobody is listening or is too close to overhear, especially Aiden. Thankfully, he's disappeared inside since the last time Derek's spied on him. There's no alpha's left out here either, Ethan's gone too, so he thinks the coast is clear.
"Sugar. He smelled like sugar." Isaac tenses, his gaze dropping to the floor before it quickly meets Derek's again.
"How does somebody even get sugar in here? Maybe he knows a guard who's smuggling something in for him."
"You're his roommate, have you not seen anything you shouldn't have?" Derek looks back at him now, but Isaac is staring forward still.
"No," is all he says, his voice taking this weird tone.
"You know something, don't you?" he asks suspiciously.
"Maybe," he says quietly.
"God dammit, Isaac," he hisses quietly, and Isaac startles from the change of tone. Derek would feel guilty if he wasn't so angry right now. "What have you been up to?"
"Nothing," he says, raising his palms in the air. Derek wraps his fingers around one of his arms to make sure he doesn't bolt, but it's not tight enough to hold him if Isaac doesn't want to be held.
"Clearly, you're up to something."
"No – I mean, yes." At Derek's growing scowl he deflates. "I mean, not me, but he is."
"Like what?"
"Like, sneaking in comics and snacks and stuff." Derek goes wide-eyed, a frown pulling his lips down in shock and horror. "But it's okay it's got nothing to do with me. I'm not involved," he tries.
"Isaac," he hisses again. "You are involved. You know about it, you're an accessory. You're his roommate, what are you going to do if he gets caught?"
"I-"
"You're going to get dragged down with him. There'll be no evidence to say that you weren't involved." Isaac looks like he's on the verge of tears.
"He said he'd tell them. He said he'd tell them that I had no part in it."
"Isaac, word of mouth doesn't mean shit to these people, don't you understand that?" A fresh wave of fear washes over Isaac's face, and he'd feel bad for it, but this is the reality of this place. Second chances don't come easy.
"I just-"
"I'm gonna kill him," he snarls determinedly, standing to his feet. He looks for Scott, and just when he thought the kid couldn't get any stranger, he moves to the other side of the wall that extends out from the facility, where the fence starts on the other side. He takes a suspicious glances over his shoulder to make nobody is watching him before he disappears completely.
"Did you just see that?" Derek asks, turning to Isaac who's standing behind him looking as confused as Derek feels. He nods, but when he opens his mouth to talk, Derek hears a different voice.
"All patients are immediately required for an emergency assembly in the cafeteria," a voice says over the intercom. "All patients are immediately required for an assembly in the cafeteria."
Isaac's face goes immediately pale. So the rumours were true after all. It just makes him wonder what other rumours floating around turn out to be true too. He rests a hand on Isaac's shoulder in a comforting move.
"It's gonna be okay," he says. "This doesn't mean anything."
They begin moving towards the doors with the other wolves who were out in the yard. As he guides Isaac in with arm around his shoulder he glances over his shoulder, Scott nowhere in sight.
"It'll be fine," he says, or hopes so at least.
::: :::
As it turns out, the plan for later on changes, and Stiles and Lydia end up at the library doing homework together. That's perfect for Stiles, because at least now he won't have to deal with his father when he returns from school.
They go straight there, and Stiles decides that he'll just leave the jeep here for a couple of hours while he's off visiting Scott. Lydia can drop him back here afterwards.
They end up doing their calculus together like they're not about to break the law in a couple of hours and risk arrest just to see their friend. The risks have never stopped them before, and if Stiles is honest he's gotten a little too comfortable about it.
There's no fear about him anymore, risking his life has become something of a routine over the years. They end up bickering over a particular sum, which turns into a debate that almost gets them kicked out.
Lydia's right though, as always.
He gets a text from Allison wishing him luck, even though she already said it when they parted after school this afternoon. He replies with a simple thanks with a smiling emojie. Lydia's too busy kicking his ass in the race to solve the next equation to notice he stopped.
He sighs and only copies her a little to try and catch up. She wins. He loses. She's smug. He sighs. In Stiles' defence he does win the next one, and only rubs it in her face a little bit. She scowls and goes and gets some coffee, coming back with a deliberately overly sugary coffee for him.
He takes that as a win.
They leave at quarter to five, homework still unfinished but they agree to just do it at home later. They stop in the convenience store next door before they leave and Stiles buys a four pack of donuts and some Coke.
Lydia shakes her head at him, but Stiles shrugs as he stuffs his purchases into his backpack. They both know they're not for him, but they both play along anyway. They're out of the town in minutes, sticking to the outskirts.
"Thanks for doing this, Lyds," he says, glancing over at her as she turns the car down an old road.
"It's the least I could do," she says, eyes trained on the road. "It's no problem." Stiles nods, doesn't know what else to say, and turns back to the passing cluster of trees. He feels like he should thank her every time she does this for him. It's the least he could do, too. She doesn't owe him anything.
The facility is deep in the forest, but there's only so far one can go, and only so long one can stay. He almost jumps when his phone pings in his pocket, and makes a mental note to turn it on silent.
From: Danny
Good to go.
Danny's a friend of his, an older friend, who runs the security system at the facility. They met through Allison, and he's been doing them a few favours over the years. He turns the camera off where Scott and Stiles meet, or loops footage or- whatever, he's a tech genius. He doesn't reply, turns his phone on vibrate and pushes it back into his pocket. Lydia doesn't ask, she knows the drill by now.
She's been driving him here at least three times a week for the last three or four years. He'd drive himself, but an empty car parked near an out of bounds facility would look mighty suspicious. She'll drop him off and then pick him up in a couple of hours.
He sighs to himself, wishing for just one time that he could see his friend without a life-threatening fence stuck between the two of them.
The car pulls to a stop in the usual spot, nothing significant about the area but an out of shape tree on the left. Stiles smiles weakly at her as he pulls up his back pack from the floor and moves to get out.
"Tell him I was asking for him," she says, like Stiles was going to visit Scott at college and not a werewolf prison. He nods anyway, closing the door and waving her off before setting off into the trees.
He takes the usual route, and it's about a ten or fifteen minute walk to the spot. It's the only way he knows how to get there without getting caught by any hunters.
He climbs over large boulders and shimmies down a hill, using rocks sticking out of a stream to get across. It would be a beautiful view of nature if it wasn't for the vague outline of a concrete building beyond the trees.
About half way there his resolve wanes and he takes one of the donuts from the pack. Whatever, he's weak, okay?
He pants his way up the final steep slope, the facility just beyond the group of bushes at the top. He's careful not to tear a thread out of his hoodie as he passes through, pulling the thorns out of the material before pushing on. When he pushes the last branch out of his way, he's met with the familiar sight of a barbed wire fence, Scott sitting cross-legged on the other side.
He sits out of view from the rest of the facility. A large concrete wall extends from the main building, and the fence begins about four feet from the end of the wall. It extends out perpendicular to the wall for another couple of feet before continuing parallel to the wall. Scott sits in the gap between the beginning of the fence and the end of the wall, out of sight from the rest of the facility.
Stiles' heart breaks a little just looking at him, his head dipped as he stares at the grass beneath him.
Scott beams brightly at him when he lifts his head, something Stiles openly returns as he joins him cross-legged on the ground. Scott scoots closer, eyes immediately lowering to Stiles' back pack sitting in his lap.
"You bring me something?"
"Well, hello to you too, buddy," he says dryly, and Scott makes an apologetic face that doesn't totally convince Stiles. He reaches in, pulling out the four pack- well, three pack of donuts. Scott's eyes widen comically, and Stiles wouldn't be surprised if he actually started drooling.
"Here," Stiles chuckles, carefully pushing one of the donuts through the large openings in the electric fence. Scott takes it, and Stiles slowly pulls his hands back through. Scott has it devoured in the time it takes for Stiles to pick up the nest one. "Jesus, do they feed you at all in there?"
Scott shrugs as he swallows the remainder of the donuts, wincing at an extra-large bite as it travels down.
Stiles almost scolds him when Scott decides to push his arms through the opening in the fence, making grabby hands at the donut. Stiles puts the donut in one of his hands and carefully guides them back out again.
"How about you don't do that," Stiles says calmly. "For my sanity, if nothing else."
Scott is too busy wolfing (heh) down the donut to offer and apology, but Stiles takes the slow nod instead. One donut later and Scott is gulping down the can of Coke. He practically almost went through the fence when he saw it.
"You're the best, Dude," he says around a belch. Stiles laughs.
"Sometimes I think you only want me for my food." Scott tilts his head sideways.
"Of course not," he says seriously. "I also want you for your comics," he says, and it's in such a serious tone that Stiles can't help but laugh. Scott looks vaguely proud.
"Yeah, which I kinda forgot to bring," he says sobering, rubbing the back of his head. Scott shrugs like it's no big deal.
"It's okay, I forgot to bring the last one back with me."
"Oh, Dude," he says, a smile growing. "I went to see that new X-Men movie." Scott's face immediately brightens. "It was awesome," he says in a high-pitched tone.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, I'm totally gonna bring it to you when the DVD comes out. It's been a while since I brought my portable DVD player." Scott nods, something about his face off.
"Who'd you go with?"
"Um, Allison. And Lydia came, too, only because Jackson dragged her there with us. I still don't know why Jackson came with us at all." Scott smiles. "She's good," he says, answering the unasked question. Scott nods again, a sad smile on his face. "She was asking for you. Lydia, too."
"Oh," he says, looking a little happier now. "Tell them I was, too. And tell Jackson he's an ass for me?"
"Always do," he laughs, and Scott joins him. They sit there for another while, until Danny texts him that it's time for him to go.
"Tomorrow?" Scott asks, and Stiles unconsciously looks down at his phone.
"Yeah, I think Danny's still on shift. I'll see you, Buddy." They both partake in a lame handshake they can't seem to move away from since they were kids. It's harder to do through the fence, but it's a risk Stiles is willing to take for the smile on Scott's face every time they do it.
Scott peaks around a corner before he leaves and heads back. Stiles immediately leaves before the camera looking at him turns back on. When he gets back on the road Lydia is just pulling to a stop.
"How was he?" she asks, not wasting any time in pulling a u-turn and driving back the way she came.
"Good," he says, smiling. "Really good."
::: :::
The walk to the cafeteria is quite to say the least, nothing but the faintest sound of rapid heartbeats. It's full of unasked questions that no one really has the answers to. Well, apparently some do, but it could be pure coincidence that one of the rumours turned out to not be a rumour at all.
It's a little unsettling, if he's honest.
Isaac never strays too far from his side as they walk through the corridors. They walk in a large group, nobody singling themselves off from the others. Derek knows that if his senses were at their best, the air would be thick with anxiety right now.
There's a hint of it in the air, almost entirely distant, but it's there.
He doesn't have to use his senses to know that Isaac is practically radiating anxiety. His fingers twitch at his side, and Derek can hear his laboured breathing. Every now and then he'll glance over at Derek and quickly turn away again. He wipes at his forehead a couple of times.
Isaac's relatively new to all of this, never been in this situation before. Hell, even Derek hasn't. There's no never been an emergency assembly before, there's rarely even an assembly at all. He has no idea what it means, but it's sure as shit not anything good.
He places a comforting hand on Isaac's shoulders that doesn't seem to comfort him in the slightest. Isaac startles under the touch at first, but eventually sinks into Derek's hand as it rub soothing circles into his upper arm.
Derek nods at him, a silent way of reassuring him that everything'll be fine. Isaac nods back, but doesn't seem to agree with him entirely. Derek is more scared for Isaac than he is for himself.
When they get to the cafeteria, most of the wolves are already there, seated at the tables. It's getting cramped in here, like there are too many wolves coming in than they can cater for. He spots Erica and Boyd and tugs on Isaac's arm for him to follow him over to them. They sit at their usual seats, an unsettling tension to the air.
There's low mumbling around them, some of the wolves look more worried than others, some look on the verge of tears, and others look totally zen. Satomi especially doesn't seem too fazed by what's happening.
When he takes a look at Erica, her face is careful, but there's a hint of fear breaking the surface. She offers him a reassuring smile that doesn't come out that way at all, and something in her eyes tells him that she's more worried than she's letting on. Her eyes immediately flick across the room when the sound of a door opening quietens the speculative wolves.
Everyone's attention turns to the front of the room, where a large steel door begins to open. There is a cluster of guards all standing along a line of mountain ash that surrounds the entrance. He takes that as a bad sign, especially since in his four years at this place, he's never once seen that door open.
The door screeches open and the sharpness causes Isaac to startle, and Derek places a soothing hand on his shoulder. His eyes meet Erica's briefly before the doors part, revealing an old, white-haired man.
Gerard Argent.
The sight of him makes Derek sick, it makes him want to shift, and the instinct is there, to shift and rip his throat out with his teeth. He feels his breathing become heavy, each breath loud and deep with rage. He's feeling so many emotions right now that he doesn't know which one to focus on.
Fear, anger, sadness, anxiety, rage. The memories come flooding back, the memories of everything he's done over the last few years, everything he's responsible for, all the death and destruction, and he's never been this angry in his life. Never been this – this out of control.
Isaac jerks his arm back where Derek is gripping it fiercely. Derek would apologize, only he's too busy baring his blunt teeth at Gerard where he's walking to the edge of the mountain ash barrier. He glances around at everyone, some people are standing, and some look like they're ready to pounce any second.
"Good afternoon, everyone," he greets them, looking around at their faces, scowls and bared human teeth reflecting his wry smirk.
This is the first time Gerard has ever addressed them, has never even showed his face in this place. He's sure they all know who he is regardless, given their reactions.
He sighs a put-upon breath at the lack of response. "I know we haven't had the warmest of introductions," he starts, and Derek's pretty sure he hears a quiet snarl. "But there's no need to be rude." He bounces on his heels as he moves his arms from behind his back and clasps them together.
"Better get down to business, so." Silence. "As I'm sure you are all aware," he begins, his voice slimy and emotionless, "we had a slight run-in with a patient last night. Unfortunately, for Mister Greenberg, he hadn't been taking his medication. And as we all know, when you break the rules, you get punished. So with everyone's safety in mind, action had to be taken."
Derek's pretty sure if they could, every wolf in the rom would be growling viciously at him.
"By no means did we intend to let the control of the situation slip through our fingers, and we felt it would be in everyone's best interest to put him down. I'm afraid we were left with no choice."
Put him down. Like Greenberg was some kind of animal. His knuckles whiten as he grips the end of the table.
"Yes, I know," he continues. "Greenberg is a great loss to the facility, and I'm sure he will be greatly missed. But," he raises a finger pointedly, "he did not die without cause. His death brings with it a message.
This facility will not tolerate such behaviour as demonstrated by Greenberg. Punishment will be served and action, by any means, will be taken. There are rules to this facility, and they are rules that you will abide by. All of you. Do I make myself clear?" All he gets is silence in return.
"There will be no more second chances, there will be no more unbroken rules left unpunished, there will be no mercy. Unless a fate to match Greenberg is desired, I strongly recommend following the rules as they stand. Understood?"
He pauses as if waiting for a response, continuing when he receives nothing other than fierce glares all aimed directly at him.
"I'll take your silence as a yes." Derek hears something resembling a growl behind him, and Gerard thankfully doesn't hear it or chooses to ignore it, because he's now pacing along the line of mountain ash.
"Continuing with our topic of punishment, there will be another announcement. It has come to our attention that many others have adopted Greenberg's outlook, so we have been left with no choice but to perform a complete room search with immediate effect."
Loud mumbling erupts amongst the wolves, Gerard watching with a smirk as they process the information given. He waits for it to die down before speaking again.
"I sincerely hope our source is wrong. For all of your sake." With that he spins on his heel and retreats through the closing doors. The wolves sit in reflective silence, before the door closes and they erupt in chat again. Derek sighs as the doors close on his retreating form.
Derek startles as someone puts their hand on his, and when he finally looks away from the now closed doors, Erica is smiling softly at him.
"You okay?" He glances back to the door momentarily before nodding. Seeing Gerard again like that, it does things to him, unsettles him as the memories of that day flash in his mind. All he wants to do now is curl up in his bed and he can't even do that.
"Yeah," he says, swallowing. "Yeah." She smiles comfortingly, releasing his hand. He watches the wolves around him begin to stand and leave in the direction of their cells. His stomach twists with worry when his eyes finally land on Isaac's panicked face.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he grips Isaac's shoulder. Isaac looks up at him with cloudy eyes, face pinched with worry.
"Scott," is all he says, and suddenly it clicks.
To be updated every month or so, all going well. If you wanna check me out on tumblr, I'm 't-g-i-sterek'. Leave a review and let me know what you think!