Note: Yay for interaction!
"Hey, Derek," Nate grins without mirth. Derek saw him approach from afar, as he stood outside his cell waiting for one of the hunters to come and rummage through the only space he has left to himself. It's the fact that he saw Nate approach that he didn't just jump on him right there and rip his face off, had time to prepare himself for the face that helped Kate burn his family to the ground, use his sister as an in, the face that fooled them.
Derek doesn't answer, instead averts his gaze. "Been a long time, huh?"
"Four years," Derek answers quickly, looking back at him, unable to help himself. He silently scalds himself when Nate's face breaks into a smug grin, finding joy in Derek taking the bait.
"Feels like ten," he says earnestly, patting Derek's arm as he passes on his way to Derek's cell. Derek doesn't even comment on how true that statement actually is. He's spent a long time in here, and counting the days is one of the only things that have kept him sane over the years.
He glances around him, the other wolves watching as hunters turn their cells upside down, invade every last ounce of privacy they have. No one's found anything yet. Yet. McCall hasn't shown up yet either, still missing since he rounded that corner to the fence.
That must be where he gets it, the prohibited food that he must be sneaking into the facility. How often does he do it? How does he do it? Does he know an escape route? Derek can't imagine anyone who can get in and out of this place on a daily basis would ever want to come in again.
He must know someone, a connection to the outside, which means that there's someone stupid enough to put themselves and McCall in danger just for a donut or a candy bar or whatever the fuck McCall's been up to behind closed doors.
He wonders if it's a werewolf that's doing it, because God knows nobody out there would dare to approach a facility full of Therianthropes. He wonders if there's even a wolf that would be so stupid as to even think about walking within a fifty mile radius of a place like this.
He doesn't dwell on what this means for Isaac, either, who he left standing outside his cell on his own. He didn't want to, but it was protocol that every wolf had to stand outside their own cell. McCall better be there to take the fall all on his fucking own.
He's snapped out of his thoughts by the sound and sight of Nate flipping over his mattress. Derek huffs in annoyance, folds his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe. He has no finesse, Derek can't help but notice. His movements are frantic, and rushed. Eager, if anything. Eager to have an excuse to put down the last Hale going.
He looks everywhere, under the bed, even pulls the whole frame away from the wall, pulls away the bed sheets, opens the blanket cover, pillow cases and even checks the mattress for any openings. He checks everywhere, scans every inch of the place, nothing left unturned or unchecked. Everything has to be sure.
Derek tries not to cringe, tries not to wince as Nate touches all of his belongings, runs his hands over every crevice, fingers pulling and tugging and lifting everything, leaving his scent everywhere, leaving that horrible, sour taste in the air that's never really left Derek, despite it being nowhere near him for the last four years.
It's going to take him days to get rid of it. There's a tint of wolf's bane there, too, some gunpowder. He's guessing they've found another wolf in the last few days, a current of electricity to be felt in the air.
He can't stop the snarl that erupts out of his throat as Nate opens the box underneath his bed. Nate stills with his hand halfway out of the box, Peter's letter gripped tightly in his fingers, roughly and without care. Nate doesn't even flinch, doesn't make an attempt to grab a weapon as Derek moves away from the doorframe to stand tall.
He laughs. He laughs like he genuinely finds it funny.
"You're pathetic," is all he says, and Derek deflates, although his chest rises and falls rapidly with every sharp intake of breath as Nate's eyes flick over the letter, reading it line by line. There's a cruel smirk curling his lips when he finally drags his eyes away, gently putting the page away and closing the box, humouring him as he tenderly puts the box back.
"I remember that day," he says with a fond look, like he's reminiscing about a joyous experience. "The good ol' days, huh?" Derek just stares at him, trying not to pay attention to the words he hears as he speaks, tries to associate no meaning to them. "Kate says hi." Derek flinches at the name, stares wide-eyed at Nate as he begins walking toward him.
"Kate's dead," he says automatically, coldly, bile coming up his throat just saying the name.
"She misses you," he continues, slowly stepping towards him, head tilted with a sly grin, ignoring him. "You remember, don't you? How she tastes, how she felt, still feel the way her nails scraped up your back, the soft whisper of her voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear."
Derek tenses, curls in on himself. "Stop," he manages. Nate laughs again, effortless, but it sounds false, angry.
"Ah, memories," he says, voice high as he rubs a hand under his eye, stopping in front of Derek and lowering his arm to grip the door frame. Derek steps back minutely when his arm brushes against Derek's stomach, hating the touch.
Derek raises his head, looks at Nate square in the eye and says, "Kate's dead, I saw with my own eyes. Peter killed her, ripped her throat out with his claws. I even got some of the spray of blood on my clothes." Nate's smirk fades into a curled up snarl. "Felt good seeing her fall face-first into the dirt."
Nate pauses for a moment, the smirk returning as he leans close, their faces just inches apart and enough to make Derek immensely uncomfortable. "You sure about that?" he whispers. "A werewolf's claws can be funny things, can't they?"
Derek stares at him, wide-eyed, taking a full step away until he's practically standing out in the hallway. Nate takes his limp hand and shakes it, like they're old buddies. "It was great seeing you, man, we should catch up for real sometime."
He pats Derek's back and then he's gone, and then all Derek can hear are the words that have followed him every day since the fire. Nothing personal. It was the moment he heard those words that he realised. Realised that the only reason there's nothing personal is because they don't view wolves as people at all. Just faceless monsters.
He barely has time to register any of the past conversation before Boyd approaches him.
"Hey," Boyd stops beside him, taking in Derek's appearance before glancing over his shoulder at Nate's retreating form, not looking back. "You okay?" Derek blinks, looks up at his face and nods. "We should go find the others," he says, before walking away.
Others. Others as in Isaac. Isaac who's on the verge of punishment or death and all because of McCall and some idiot sneaking food into their cell. He hopes that McCall's donut was worth Isaac's future.
He waits until Boyd is five or six steps ahead before following behind. Most of the cells seems to be done with, the open doors revealing wolves putting their cell back together again. Isaac is still standing outside his door, and Derek can still see the sheen of sweat on Isaac's forehead even from this distance.
He's trembling when they stop, not wanting to get too close for fear that they'll get into trouble. Instead they stand a little ways down the hall, not able to meet Isaac's pleading eyes. A pillow lands on the threshold, the hunter obviously tossing it over his shoulder without a care. Isaac flinches, begins curling in on himself and suddenly there's silence in contrast to the rustling coming from the room just a second ago.
The hunter's steps are loud as he makes his way out the door, his boots meeting the floor heavily with each step. Isaac stills, the hunter looking at him with a blank face, before his hidden hand rises and throws a whole collection of items onto the floor.
A comic book, candy wrappers, little pieces of food still unopened. An iPod. That bastard.
The hunter sighs, seemingly collecting himself before he swings his arm, his hand colliding with Isaac's face and knocking him against the wall and then to the ground. Derek steps forward, Boyd's outstretched arm the only thing stopping him from trying to intervene. He almost pushes passed it, almost pushes Boyd to the side in an effort to fight for his beta.
The commotion seems to attract some of the other wolves as a crows starts to form around Isaac's cell, nobody stepping too close. Derek watches as shock dawns across many of their faces, some disbelieving and some accepting with a disapproving nod. Idiot, they're probably thinking. The crowd itself seems to be drawing unwanted attention, and with each agonizing second it seems to grow larger.
Isaac makes a noise from the floor, and the hunter looks around at all of the wolves watching him in silence. Derek swallows and steps back, allowing Boyd to guide him behind his shoulder, his head dipping to stare at the ground in shame.
He can't help himself but look up when he hears footsteps, and McCall stops at the line of onlookers on the other side of Isaac, pushing passed shoulders and nudging people out of the way to get to the forefront. His stupid smile fades off his face at the sight before him, and Derek wonders if it's because of Isaac lying helpless on the floor, at mercy to a hunter, or if it's because he's been caught.
He wonders if it's both, but doesn't care regardless.
All he cares about is clearing Isaac's name, and he waits. He waits for McCall to step forward, admit to it and save Isaac's life, but he just stands there, staring wide-eyed with his jaw hanging open, not reacting fast enough to the hunter's fist slamming right into his crooked jaw and sending him stumbling back.
In an instant, someone is shoving into his and Boyd's sides, a group of more hunters, who stop when they take in the scene, the books and food and the two werewolves at centre stage. One of them is quick to fist his hand in Isaac's collar and reef him to his feet, who makes a dazed sound and almost falls over again and then pulled roughly into balance.
"Hey, w-" is all he can get out before Boyd's hand covers his mouth, and he lets him do it, doesn't fight it as he watches a hunter roughly shove them forward. The crowd splits, hurriedly stepping out of their way. Boyd's hand comes away from his gaping mouth, no words allowing themselves to come out.
As Isaac is marched forward, he glances over his shoulder, meeting Derek with glassy eyes, wet with unshed, fearful tears, and it takes everything Derek has not to make a move to grab him. He's shoved around a corner and only then does Derek breathe, not even aware that he had stopped.
"Move it!" the remaining hunter yells, and everyone flinches into action, Boyd and Derek just standing there and staring at the spot where Isaac had been lying, wondering if that was the last time they'd see Isaac again.
::: :::
"Alright, bye Lyds!" he closes the door to her blue Toyota, waving her off as she leaves. He's half way down the thankfully cruiser-less driveway when he finally notices Allison sitting on his porch step, clutching her phone in her hands that are wrapped around her bare knees.
It's gotten dark since he left Scott, and the early spring air is still cold enough that you can see your breath with every exhale. Even he's cold, and he's wearing layers.
"Jesus, you must be freezing," he picks up his pace towards her, and she offers a polite smile as she stands and opens her arms in greeting.
"I'm fine," she says over his shoulder as he embraces her into a warm hug. Allison gives good hugs. So did Scott. They must have had the best hugs back in the day. When he releases her she's still smiling, although it's still not meeting her eyes. It looks sad, almost.
"You want to come inside?" he asks, sensing something's up. She nods as he opens the front door, thankfully his dad's not home. They trail through the dark hallway to the kitchen, and he only almost trips once.
When he flicks the lights on he sees his dinner on a plate in the microwave, but no note from his dad to say so. They can't even communicate in notes, that's how bad it's getting.
"You want coffee?" he changes the subject in his own head. She takes a seat at the table, taking up his offer. He can feel the tension in the room rising as he makes two mugs, silent in conversation the entire time.
He can feel her watching him, and it's a little unnerving.
"What's up?" he asks, taking the seat at the head of the table next to her. She takes the mug gingerly in her sleeved hands and blows, but remains otherwise silent. "Allison."
"I want to come with you," she says so quickly that Stiles can barely keep up with her words. Stiles watches her watch him for a moment, taking in what she just said. "To see Scott."
"You want to come with me." It's not a question, he heard her loud and almost clear, he's just having a little trouble with the concept.
"Yeah."
"Okay," he says evenly, drawing out the word. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Allison considers him for a brief moment.
"Don't try and talk me out of this," she says, and Stiles is taken aback to say the least. "I need to do this," she says with determination.
"You don't have to do anything."
"Okay. I want to do this."
"But have you thought this through? What this means for you and your family?" Stiles is all for Allison to come with him, like, he can only imagine Scott's dopey lovelorn face when he sees her, but seriously, someone needs to be thinking rationally right now.
"Yes, I've thought this through," she says with a roll of her eyes. She's been spending way too much time with Lydia.
"But have you, though?" Allison gives him a look, a look that makes him want to curl in on himself. He's getting some serious Lydia vibes from her tonight, she's clearly a girl on a mission, and whether or not Stiles agrees to it she's going to go anyway.
Stiles sighs defeated already like the wuss that he is. "Have you at least spared a thought for what would happen if you got caught?"
"You haven't been caught yet," she says simply, drinking from her mug.
"I've just been lucky."
"For four years straight?" she asks with raised eyebrows that say don't fuck with me, bitch. When she says it like that, he's wondering how none of this came sooner.
"Maybe I'm just so super-fast and agile that they haven't been able to catch me yet," he says, puffing out his chest in a heroic manner. Allison continues giving him a flat look. "Lacrosse," he says, with deeper tone of voice than what comes natural to him.
"Gymnastics and archery," she points to herself looking victorious. Stiles opens his mouth to argue before he realises that he doesn't even have an argument in the first place. He clamps his mouth shut, instead going to the microwave and heating up his lasagne.
When he sits down he's thankful for the noise filling the silence between them.
"How was he?" she asks, downing her cup and moving to abandon it in the sink. When she comes back she's holding the lasagne and two forks, placing it in the middle of the table and tucking into her half like it was for her. He doesn't fight her on it, he's not really hungry anyways.
"The usual," he says, which pretty much means that he looked tired and sad, was bored, but was happy to see him and wanted Allison to visit him instead. Stiles has grown to accept that he's not Scott's number one choice after all those years.
He picks at the lasagne, not actually picking anything up on his fork, just playing with it. Allison watches him, can feel her gaze burning him. Stiles looks up to meet her gaze and she immediately looks away, eyes darting back to the lasagne, and Stiles doesn't miss the sight of her mimicking his movements with her own fork.
"Is there something else you want to tell me?" Allison slowly looks back up again, resting her fork leaning against the plate. She flicks her hair away from her eyes, but doesn't break eye contact. Stiles can already tell this is bad.
"Something's up with Gerard." Stiles refrains from gagging at the thought of the man, even after all these years the name doesn't sit well with him. After what he done, he can barely stomach the name Argent at all, as unfair as that may be to Allison.
He doesn't know how she can handle having him in her house, touching her stuff and eating next to each other. How she can plaster on a false smile and pretend that everything's okay, and humour him about how her training is going when it's not going at all. He sighs.
"When is there not something going on with your grandfather?" he asks, because it's easier to refer to him like that, even if he knows that he just cut something inside Allison and twisted the knife. It's still better than forming the word. She was either unaffected by his choice of words or managed to mask her emotions before they reached the surface.
He's going to go with the latter, because that's just who Allison is, who she feels she has to be. Stiles wishes she wouldn't be so hard on herself.
"This was different," she continues with the subject. "He was different, nervous even." Stiles doesn't say anything, just waits on her to elaborate. "Gerard's hard to read, always saying one thing and meaning another, always choosing what emotions to feel. But today, he was- he was nervous."
"About what?" Stiles chokes, coughs to clear his throat.
"I don't know, but he was there one minute and the next he was rushing out the door with a bunch of hunters for the facility." Stiles nods, processing the information. It feels like minutes before he speaks.
"You think something went wrong at the facility. Something very wrong, judging by his reaction." Allison nods, not denying. "Allison, why do you want to come see Scott?" Allison opens her mouth, but he interrupts her before she can speak. "Honestly."
And then her mask slips, her calm self dissipating behind creases and lines of worry. She still doesn't say anything, and Stiles is sure it's because if she does, she might lose herself completely. That's not what hunters do, what they're trained to fight, and sometimes it's not easy to adopt another lifestyle. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to show emotion.
"You want to make sure he's okay." She nods slowly, silently. Her glassy eyes meeting Stiles'. Stiles nods back, pursing his lips. "Okay," he says quietly, rising from the table and discarding the lasagne on the counter. His dad will eat it when he comes home. "Danny's on shift tomorrow at six, so me and Lydia'll come and pick you up at five thirty."
He looks over his shoulder to where she's still sitting at the table nodding along with what he says. He turns back and flips the switch on the socket to turn off the microwave. "So I'm gonna go and take a shower but you can hang arou-" When he turns back she's gone, her chair pushed back under the table like she was never there.
He pauses for a moment, before turning off the lights and heading upstairs.
::: :::
Derek stares up at the ceiling, not moving, barely even breathing. Nate's scent still fills his lungs with every intake of air, and it burns almost as much as the scent of wolf's bane. At least, to him it does. He blinks, flashes of yesterday afternoon haunting him every time he closed his eyes. He didn't sleep, couldn't close his eyes without seeing Isaac's face as he was dragged around that corner.
His heart stutters from the thought, and his stomach twists. He'd puke, but he doesn't have the energy to. He doesn't know if that makes sense, but that's how he feels. He hasn't moved a muscle all night, just stared into the darkness and tried not to feel the ghost of Boyd's arm holding him back.
He should have done something. He should have stepped up like a good alpha would have and done something. Anything. And every time he thinks it he hears Boyd's words in his ear, they'd barely registered at the time. They were back in Derek's cell after it happened, and Derek didn't even remember going back.
He stood in the entrance as Boyd fixed the bed back in place and remade it, Derek standing in silence, helpless. Like he was helpless before. Before he knew it Boyd was sitting him down, and it almost felt like he wasn't an alpha anymore. He still was, of course, he could feel he was, but he didn't feel like he deserved it.
Not when he stood back and watched as his beta was marched to his possible death. He still didn't know if McCall was an alpha or a beta. If he was an alpha that would mean Peter is dead, and it's a thought like that that makes him want to not know.
He'll be okay, Derek. It wasn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done, and he hasn't done anything wrong. He'll be fine.
Now that he thinks back on it, it all sounds a bit too mechanical. Like Boyd needed to believe it as much as he needed Derek to. He almost snorted when he heard Boyd say it, as if Boyd was ignorant enough to believe it were true. That's how he knew he was right; there are no second chances anymore, Gerard has said.
Gerard tends to stick to his word.
The lock on the door shifts, and there's a creak of metal as the door swings open and allows the gleam of fluorescent lights into the room. He squints at the hunter and takes the offered pill, her eyes on him the entire time. He swallows, and it hurts as much as ever, despite how numb he feels.
He lays in bed for another few hours before he gets up.
His mind eventually drifts to Nate, and how he's probably working here in the facility now. It hits him like a wave, the words that he didn't have time to register yesterday. Kate's alive. That's impossible, she couldn't be. He saw what happened to her that day, how she went down like a ton of bricks, blood spurting from her body as she hit the ground.
Unless- no, she couldn't be. She has to be dead, the chances of turning from something like that are rare to say the least. It's one in a million. Then again, Kate is one in a million. He sighs, scrubs his hands over his eyes before he realizes what he's been doing all morning. He's abandoned his betas again- Isaac could be back.
He scrambles off the bed, and he's close to jogging by the time he nears Isaac's room down the hall, some of the other wolves watching him pass, some whispering lowly in each other's ear. He can tell that the door to his cell is open, and hope blooms in his chest that they listened to him, saw he was innocent and let him back to his room in the middle of the night. He comes to a stop on the threshold of the door.
The cell is still a mess, in the same state that it was left in yesterday. He doesn't know if that's a good sign or a bad sign, he knows it means neither of them had come back yet, but the hunters haven't been ordered to clear the room for another pair of wolves, so he'll take it as a win while he still can.
A part of him is telling him to take it as it is, as nothing, that having hope is a ridiculous concept in a place like this, that he's fooling himself for even allowing himself to think there's a chance of Isaac's return. In the end he's setting himself up for a fall, and he knows it, but that doesn't mean he's not going to come by here every morning until he knows for sure that Isaac won't come back.
A sense of dread fills him, and he helplessly pushes away the thoughts of returning to this cell every day and finding it empty, the emptiness he'd feel. Isaac hasn't done anything wrong, he'll be back soon, he reminds himself, hopelessly optimistic. He instead focuses his mind on keeping himself busy, so he decides to pass the time by cleaning up this mess.
The first thing he does is push the frames of the beds back in their corners, sweeping some of the splinters across the floor with his feet where the bed must have been knocked against a wall. He makes the beds, both of them, and separates the piles of clothes strewn out across the floor. He collects the ones that match Isaac's size and folds them, leaving them neatly on the bed.
McCall's, he leaves flung across his bed, some of the sleeves hanging over the side and onto the floor. He almost wants to flip the bed over, break it in half. Derek quells the anger running through his veins, tries not to think about what he's going to do to McCall if he ever comes back here. He smiles despite himself, thinking about laying his fist into McCall's face. Maybe he could right that crooked jaw of his.
"I should have known you were a stress cleaner," a voice says, and Derek's face falls in time to turn to Erica, who's standing with her hip leaning against the door frame. There's a fond, but sad curl to her lips, her eyes tired.
"Must be why I keep my cell so tidy," he remarks, and her smile grows minutely, her eyes lowering to the floor. Any other day she would have been at the prospect of him playing along. He sighs, resting his chin on his hands as he sits on the bed, staring forward. It's a long moment of contemplative silence before she speaks again.
"We've been waiting for you to come out all morning," she says. "I went to your cell and you weren't there." He knows she doesn't mean anything by it, but Derek can't help but feel guilty over abandoning his betas in a time of need. It's seems to be a pattern of his.
"Was here." Erica huffs a quiet laugh, and he can almost feel her rolling her eyes. Neither of them seem to be putting too much effort or enthusiasm into their banter, but it comes easy for them, and that's the kind of relationship they've had for three years now.
She moves to the bed slowly, but not warily, just tired in her movements. He guesses he's not the only one who had trouble sleeping last night. "I figured," she drawls, curling in close to him, but not quite touching. Her knee nudges his, and he nudges hers back lamely.
"Where's Boyd?" he asks, because it's not often that he and Erica are separated without needing to be. It's even rarer that she'd spend her time away from him with Derek, they've never really spent much time alone together. Derek barely gets time alone at all, these days, not that he has much to complain about now, of course.
"He's in the yard, said he needed to do something worthwhile while he waits. Boyd's not really one for talking." He snorts, because he's noticed. It's one of the things he loves most about Boyd, mostly because he sees a bit of himself there. "I couldn't even think about exercise, was up all hours of the night." She swallows, changes the subject away from her. "How are you holding up?"
Derek considers her words, and if he's honest he doesn't know how he feels, he hasn't had time to even think about himself. Erica doesn't push him on the matter, gives him time to gather his thoughts, which he's grateful for, even though he doesn't know where to begin.
"You know, when a pack member dies, it's like losing a limb. You lose a part of yourself along with them. I know what it's like to lose pack, I know better than anyone. It's like- It's like a void than can't be filled, that'll stay empty for the rest of your life. It's hard, it's… hard," he finishes weakly.
"I'm sorry," she says genuinely, gripping Derek's hand softly. Derek's never seen her like this, this unguarded, like her walls are down.
"Don't be," he shakes his head, not pulling out of her grip. "Isaac's not my pack, he's just- I don't even know if he's dead, and I don't know if it's the worst part. If it's that he's not my pack or that I'd know if he was dead if he was. It's different with you guys, it makes it even harder.
"I know what it's like to lose pack, I've lost all of mine," he continues, his voice cracking at the end, and the grip Erica has hold of him tightens, but he remains quite otherwise. "But I've never lost family or friends, I don't know what that's like. It's harder." He's only ever considered his close family as pack, he supposes family is an instinct that only really belongs to humans.
A long silence falls in the air between them, no sound other than whatever's happening outside the cell and their long, even breaths. She keeps her hands around his for another while longer, until she pulls away and twists on the bed, settling so that she can face him. Derek doesn't meet her, just stays sitting where he is, eyes on the ground.
"Human or wolf, you're allowed to grieve," she says softly. Derek hears her words echo in his head, human or wolf, and with them he is turning to meet her. The look in her eyes tells Derek that she's chosen her words carefully, that she said it exactly as she meant it.
"You think we're humans," he says, and it's not a question, but a statement. She shrugs casually, a rueful smile on her face when she speaks.
"As good as," she sighs, moving her hands to grip her knees. Derek feels a pulse of anger rise and then dissipate almost as soon as it appeared. Wasn't that the point? That wolves were people, too, even without being human?
"We're wolves, even if we don't feel like it anymore," he says evenly. "We're not humans." Erica shakes her head, her eyes lifting to the ceiling for a brief second that could have been interpreted as an eye roll.
"I don't know what it's like to be a wolf, I don't know any different," she says, exasperated. "I don't know the difference between being a wolf and being a human."
"What do you mean?" Derek asks, his brows furrowing. He doesn't even realize it when his hand fists into his trousers.
"I got bit in an accident, Derek. My friend and I were out in the woods one night and we were attacked. I had an epileptic fit, and when I woke up, I was in here, being fed pills." She blinks away tears, meeting Derek's wide eyes. "I've never experienced being a wolf. There's a whole part of me that I've never even had the chance to feel."
Derek opens his mouth to speak, only to realize that there are no words that he can say, he's speechless. He slowly closes his mouth, turning away and swallowing. "I'm sorry," is all he says, and he wonders if it sounded as weak to Erica than it did his own ears. Erica laughs wetly, but doesn't comment further.
Neither of them move for a long time, Erica moving to lean against the back wall at some stage. Derek stays hunched over, head resting back in his hands, staring into space. "What does a full moon feel like?" he hears Erica ask from behind him, so low even he had trouble hearing it. He sighs, scooting back to rest next to her.
"When I was a kid my mom always said it was my wolf trying to fly to the moon." He smiles bitterly at the memory, not looking at Erica but instead the bed sheets. "It's like- It's like a rope connecting the wolf in you to the moon, and the moon is pulling it out, like it's a physical thing. If you know how to harness it, it can make you stronger, faster.
"If you don't, it's like a sudden rush of power that you're trying desperately to control but can't. Like there's too much of it to handle all at once and you just- lose control."
"Like Greenberg," she says thoughtfully. It's not entirely like Greenberg, but it's the same concept. Too much power spread across too little time.
"Kind of," he says. "But Greenberg didn't have a pack. When you're part of a pack it's easier to keep control. They anchor you, in a way. Keep you solid." Erica stays quiet, but seems interested all the same, as satisfied with that answer as she's ever going to be. She'll probably never experience it first hand, and that thought twists something inside Derek.
"I know you don't know it, I know you don't feel it like we would, but you have a pack." Erica looks up at him through her lashes, her awed expression breaking into a small smile. "You're my beta," he rubs her knee with his thumb. "I might not have bit you, but packs can stretch beyond the power of the bite."
Erica turns her head away, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "Ew," she mutters, sniffling. "Feelings." Derek laughs, looks away to let her compose herself.
It's not untrue, either, there were humans in Derek's family that were always considered to be on the same level as wolves, were never treated to be anything less than wolves. He feels a level of protection just thinking about them, and he feels protection over his own pack members, over Isaac. He realizes what time of day it must be, it must be time.
He takes one last look over at McCall's bed before standing, patting Erica's foot as he passes. "Where are you going?" Erica looks up at him, but doesn't make a move to follow him. He suspects she's going to hang around in Isaac's bed for a while.
"I have to go meet somebody," he says quietly over his shoulder. "I'll be back soon." He leaves her alone, heading down the hall towards the exercise yard.
By somebody, he means whoever's been feeding McCall through the fence.
::: :::
"We can turn back if you want," Stiles grunts, hopping down off a steep drop at the end of a hill. He lands on his feet, barely, before turning to grab Allison's hand to help her down. She smiles her thanks at him, and it's not that she needs help after he training. Doesn't mean Stiles can't be a gentleman.
"It's fine," she says airily, continuing on to walk ahead of him. She's not the one that knows the way but Stiles gets the feeling she's trying not to make eye contact with him, so he hangs back just over her shoulder. "We've come this far."
"Not far enough that you can't change your mind if you want to," Stiles tries, almost tripping over a root sticking out of the ground as he bores holes into the side of her head. If she noticed, well, she pretended not to.
"What if I don't want to?" she asks over her shoulder, finally meeting his eyes.
"What if you haven't thought this through all the way?" he retorts, and Allison dips her head away and continues walking. He wasn't sure bringing her here was the best idea, knows that it's a terrible idea. He spent all hours of the night wondering why she wanted to do this now, wondering if letting her come was the right choice to make. "What if you get caught?"
"You haven't," she says, pausing at the edge of a small stream. Stiles steps ahead of her, using the rocks jutting out of the water as a pathway across. He manages to avoid using the rock covered in slippery moss, pointing at it and telling her to be careful.
"That wasn't the point," he hops off the last rock and waits for her to catch up, and they end up walking side by side.
"What is?" she squints up, and Stiles follows her gaze up to a flock of birds overhead, flying freely through the trees and dodging branches as they move. He sighs, tries not to turn it into too much of a metaphor and turns back to her.
"Your dad," he says bluntly, and suddenly her arm is sticking out in front of him and drawing them both to a stop. She rounds on him, immediately locking eyes with his, and Stiles feels the sudden urge to run away in fear.
"Don't try and talk me out of this," she says, shaking her head. "This is what I want." Her face is certain, giving nothing away.
"I just want to make sure you know what you're risking here," Stiles says earnestly, but it has her shaking her head again with a disbelieving smile as she starts walking again.
"What, that my dad will be killed if any of the hunters find an Argent out in the woods near the facility, that an Argent is meeting up with a wolf?" Stiles runs to catch up with her. There's no lie to her words, Gerard won't stand for it. He doesn't doubt for a second that Allison would receive the same punishment.
"They'll have his head, Allison," he pants.
"And they'll have yours, too," she comes to a stop. "What, you think that the sheriff's only son getting caught breaking Argent's law won't come to the same result?" she scoffs. In all this time Stiles has been doing this, he's never once thought about what this would mean for his own father if he was ever to be caught.
Sorrow and regret twist his insides, because he's been so busy being mad at his father for the last four years that he never thought about him when he didn't think it was necessary. He's never even realized the danger he's put his father through. The Stilinski name would never recover, but he's never thought about it beyond himself.
"I'm sorry," Stiles blinks, not meeting her eyes. "I- sorry," he sighs, feeling the sudden urge to apologize for dropping all of this on her shoulders, for making her feel worse for making a selfish action, an action he's been making all along.
"It's fine," she says, patting his shoulder. "Really, I'm glad to see someone still has my back." Stiles looks up at her then, and smiles softly at her, something that she returns as they start walking again at a slower pace. "What did you bring him?" she asks, breaking the silence between them.
"You," he says, and he doesn't look but he knows Allison is smiling that toothy grin. He smiles despite himself as they reach the bottom of the last hill, the facility just at the top through the bushes up there. He can see the roof of part of the facility over the tops of the trees, just barely visible as the wind pushes the branches away to reveal it before they snap back again.
"You really walk this every day?" Allison asks, panting slightly, as they climb up the hill. Stiles wonders if she's humouring him just to make him feel better, even if it should be the opposite way around. Stiles feels a burning in his lungs all the same, his throat a little dry from all the exercise.
"Not every day, but it helps with lacrosse." Allison snorts.
"Yeah, if you were on the team," she teases him as they come to the top, and when she turns to him she's not wearing the playful smirk he thought she would, but instead a very nervous face, her forehead creased with worry.
"You ready?" he asks. She nods her head, looking at the bushes in front of her, the only thing separating her from Scott. Well, there's the electric fence, too, but they're not going to get into semantics. Stiles comes to edge of the bushes, sighing out a long breath.
"You nervous?" she asks him, and when he looks over his shoulder at her she is wearing that playful smirk.
"A little," he answers her honestly. She rolls her eyes, flicking her hair out of her face as she pushes him forward.
"Go," she laughs.
"Okay, I'm going, jeez," he finally begins walking, nudging branches out of his way as he walks, holding them back longer than necessary so they don't fling back and hit Allison square in the face. He's careful not to press too hard on them, the nettles already digging into the skin of his palms. He can hear Allison walking closely behind, her toes scraping against his heel at times.
She whispers her apologies, Stiles nodding along. He gets that she's probably in a rush, they've all been anticipating this moment for a while now. Stiles is honestly surprised it's taken this long, he half expected Scott to go all 'Shawshank Redemption' on this prison's ass just to go see her. God knows Scott would do it.
He glances over his shoulder when it goes quiet behind him, only now noticing that Allison stopped walking a few steps back. She juts her chin out, urging him onward, and he continues without a word. The gaps between the branches reveal the wall of the facility, and a little to the right he can barely make out Scott sitting by the fence in his usual spot.
He smiles, looks back over his shoulder where Allison still hasn't moved, her face hopeful, and edges forward, pushing the last branch away and stepping out into the open. He blinks in the bright sun, his eyes adjusting as Scott comes to a stand- only Scott looks very different today.
That's not Scott. Fuck.
Stiles stills with the realization. This man is taller, bulkier, his hair is shorter and black. His eyebrows are thick, and his sharp jaw is peppered with facial hair, the hairs short. The man comes to a stand, wary eyes closing in on him.
"Shit," is all Stiles says, frozen in place, telling his legs to move. The man comes closer to the fence, just a step, but it's enough to make Stiles finally step backwards to the edge of the bushes.
"You," the man calls, his voice soft but hoarse, nothing like he would have assumed it would sound like, and Stiles stills again.
"No, no 'me'," he laughs awkwardly, lifting his palms up in defence and then pointing in the direction he came. "I'm just- I'm gonna go now, you didn't see me, okay? Cool," he goes to take another step backwards, instead colliding with another body that nudges him forward again.
"Hey, what's-" Allison cuts herself off when her eyes land on Derek, and she seems to catch up pretty quickly because she's suddenly tugging on Stiles elbow and pulling them both back through the branches. "Oh, we're sorry," she says stiffly, "We're lost, and just looking for- um, yeah."
The guy's face goes panicked, and then, "You're McCall's friends, aren't you?" They both stop as soon as the words are out. Stiles' heart races in his chest, his mouth gaping and forming no words, any coherent sentence lost on his tongue.
"Yes," Allison answers, her voice unsure, and it's only when she speaks that Stiles realizes that he's just been standing there staring at the guy with his mouth hanging open. He straightens himself immediately, coughing away the lump in his throat. The guy hums, nodding, and then he's beckoning Stiles over, wagging his index finger in a come here gesture.
Stiles looks over his shoulder at Allison, who's gently urging him forward with her hands on his back. He silently pleads with her, and yeah, he's totally scared of the big, scary guy and his whole psycho killer look he's got going. He is kind of hot, though, and familiar if his eyes aren't betraying him.
Stiles swallows as he stands before the other man, slightly less scared now that he knows he's only slightly shorter than him. His eyes are piercing, and Stiles can't help but wonder why he's here and not Scott. Why was he asking if they were McCall's buddies? Something must have happened, Allison could have been right.
"Where's Scott? Did something happen?" he voice wavers, wide, pleading eyes staring into the other man's for confirmation. His eyes are sad, tired, frustrated even, and black rings circle them. They dip down before meeting Stiles' again, his green eyes piercing. There's something there, something manic, and it almost knocks the wind out of Stiles. "What did you do?" he asks lowly, and this time his voice doesn't waver.
He laughs, just a huff of air and a small curl to his lips. He throws his eyes to the sky in a Lord, give me patience manner, settling down with an angry smirk. "More like what have you done?" Stiles' brow furrows, but on some level he already knows what Derek's talking about.
"What happened?" he asks, searching the guy's fixed eyes for an answer, but he just shakes his head, steps even closer to the fence, a movement that has Stiles almost taking a step back.
"He's in trouble," he says, and Stiles' breath hitches on the last word, his heartbeat skyrocketing in his chest as he processes it. He hears Allison approach, and she stops behind him, a little ways away from the fence.
"What kind of trouble?" she asks, her tone emotionless. "Is he okay?" The guy doesn't take his eyes away from Stiles', not even when he responds to her, like he's still aiming his words at Stiles, who's breathing heavily.
"I don't know," is all he says, and Stiles' thoughts are too busy clouding with horrific thoughts of Scott dying, of Stiles being responsible.
"What are they doing to him? Where is he?" Allison tries again, her mask slipping as her words become more rushed, more frantic. All Stiles can think about is how scared Scott must feel, how today was his chance to see Allison and- and Stiles ruined it. If he's alive.
"I don't know," he repeats, drawing Stiles attention again.
"Well, what do you know?" Stiles yells, definitely louder than he should have, and the tears gathering in his eyes are threatening to spill when Derek opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again. His expression goes from angry to resolved, and before Stiles can register it, Derek is turning away. Allison steps closer, now in his view as she halts just on the edge of the wire.
"I know that if you're smart, you won't come back here. Maybe if you do you won't cause any more damage." With that he's gone, and all Stiles can do is stand there and watch him go as a tear rolls down his cheek.
::: :::
"Well what do you know?" the kid yells, and Derek barely contains the wince at how loud and how desperate he sounds. The girl beside him doesn't look any more well off than he does. He almost bites back a response to tell him to keep his mouth shut, quickly closing his mouth when he takes a good look at the kid's face, tears welling up in his eyes, an angry furrow to his eyebrows and a hurt frown.
It's not the face of somebody who purposefully set out to do any harm.
The anger in Derek dissolves into something calmer, something like understanding, especially when Stiles' words sink in, because the truth is, Derek knows nothing, and that terrifies him more than the facility itself. He turns away resigned, pausing after the first step.
"I know that if you're smart, you won't come back here." Because if there's one thing Derek does know, it's that this place isn't somewhere anyone should willingly approach. Not unless you've got a death wish. He rounds the wall without looking back, and once he does, he crumples back against it.
His chest is heaving, and he dips his head back against the concrete as he exhales long and slow, steadying his breathing. He stares up at the sky, closing his eyes as he calms down. When he opens his eyes again, there are guards still patrolling the walls and doors, and inmates in the yard carrying on as normal.
It was too still, to the point where Derek was almost wondering if what happened had happened at all. He knows it did happen, he came face to face with humans that didn't seem to fit Derek's perception at all. Derek doesn't know how to describe them, innocent maybe. Nothing like the ignorance and small-mindedness he's come to associate with humans over the years.
Who even were they? Scott's friends obviously, which means that they're probably still in school, Scott was only a freshman when he came here which means that they're seniors, probably no more than seventeen or eighteen. What kind of teenager comes up with a system to get here, he's seen the security this place has. He knows there's patrols, too. They're obviously smart enough to not get caught.
He's still angry, though. The fact that they were treating this place like some holiday resort has gotten Isaac in trouble. But maybe it wasn't entirely their fault, and maybe he shouldn't be taking his anger out on them when it's obvious that it should be directed at Scott. Now that he thinks about it, he never actually told them what happened, and he supposes they deserve that much. To know.
But the guard lining the wall is eyeing him dubiously from across the way so he stands straight and moves away, not wanting to draw attention to himself or the spot. He'll come back tomorrow, he's sure they'll keep coming back anyway. His threats don't hold much power anymore now that there's an electric fence holding him back.
He looks around for Boyd, hasn't seen him all day, but he seems to have disappeared since the last time he saw him while walking to the fence earlier. He assumes he's with Erica, because when are they ever separated? They're probably in one of the cells, and if Boyd had to go find Erica then they're probably in Isaac's
He doesn't particularly want to go back there, but he begins walking in that direction anyway. He can't help but look back as people stare after him in the yard, and in the halls and in the canteen, and this time they don't even have the decency to quickly look away when their eyes meet. There are even more eyes on him now than there were when he left, but he pushes onward without sparing a second glance.
When he rounds the corner to the hallway of Isaac's room, he's not surprised to see Boyd there, but is surprised to find Boyd only standing in the doorway. He approaches, and Boyd must catch him in the corner of his eye because he stands aside, turning to him with a small smile on his face that Derek has always found creepy.
Derek quirks a curious eyebrow at him and Boyd just happily gestures for him to look in the room, and he follows the movement to see Erica still sitting on Isaac's bed, although she's perched on the edge next to another person. Isaac.
In the rush of seeing him, he darts through the door, pausing when the motion attracts their attention. He freezes mid-step when Isaac's eyes land on him, and Isaac quickly stands so they're both facing each other, but neither of them speaks. He steps back, waiting on Isaac to make the next move.
He failed Isaac yesterday, only now realizing how much when he takes in the state that he's in. Derek's eyes rake over his body, his dishevelled hair and clothes wrinkled and torn in areas. He's lifting his left foot so it's just hovering over the floor, probably hurt, and the dark circles around his eyes make him look exhausted.
It's the bruise on his upper left cheek that draws his attention the most, puffy and an angry purple with different shades of greens and yellows. He has other bruises, too, but not as prominent. The hurt and upset look Isaac's face make Derek hurt just as much, but before he can either get a word into his apology Isaac is limping over and colliding into Derek with a force that probably hurt him.
Derek wraps his arms around him on impulse, holding him tight and burying his face into Isaac's hair where he's resting his head on Derek's shoulder. He exhales sharply, breathing out a relieved sigh without even realizing he was holding his breath. He doesn't miss Isaac's choked off sob, and it only makes Derek hold on to Isaac tighter, like Derek is the one that needs support.
"You're okay," he whispers, eyes catching Erica looking up at him. They hold the stare for a moment before she's standing up and leaving with a soft smile. She puts her hand on Isaac's shoulder as she goes before wordlessly leaving. "You're okay," he says again, because he needs to hear just as much as Isaac. He's okay.
His eyes travel to the other side of the room, to the empty bed sitting in the corner with no sign of anyone having returned to it. He immediately pulls back, and regrets it when Isaac flinches with the sudden movement. "McCall?" Isaac swallows before answering, shaking his head with his eyes downcast on the floor.
"No," he says quietly. Derek doesn't push further, doesn't know what to say, really. He knows Scott and Isaac are close, and he knows it's the only reason Isaac didn't turn him in. He has to admit that he does feel a little sympathy for him, and even his friends, because tomorrow he has to go back there and explain why their friend might be dead.
He pushes all of those thought away though, saves them for later. He'll deal with it tomorrow, but for now, he just pulls Isaac back in, pushes his nose back into his hair and breathes in his soothing scent, hoping that the faint smell Isaac can get from him is enough to do the same. He's safe.
Well, as safe as you can be in a place like this.
Leave a review and let me know what you think. You can find me on tumblr at t-g-i-sterek, and I've also started a new series 'I Would U and I Together' so you can check that out, too. I'll probably re-write and then contine 'The Mortise to my Tenon' at some stage after this, which is looking like a pretty long one. You can expect Chapter 3 around December 18th or so!