Stiles glanced nervously at his watch as his picked the lock of the chemistry classroom at Beacon Hills High School. Already the sky was just starting to lighten with the promise of a new day, and Stiles wanted to be out of the school before anyone noticed that the school wasn't as abandoned as it should be. At least Summer school wasn't on, thanks to it being the weekend, so he didn't have to worry about some teacher walking in on him.
The classroom door clicked and Stiles turned the handle and let himself into the room, memories of the long hours he'd spent in this very room washing over him like an icy cold bucket of water. Stiles shivered as he remembered all those torturous hours he'd spend listening to Harris drone on and on in his monotone voice.
Stiles forced the memories back. It wasn't the time for a walk down memory lane, Stiles was there for a reason.
Still gingerly holding onto the envelope, Stiles set it on the teacher's desk, before he went looking for what he needed. Thanks to his prior experience breaking into the school, and this classroom in particular, it didn't take him long to find the protective gear he needed. It wouldn't do much if the envelope did contain explosives, or one of the Leagues more aggressive biological weapons, but it would help against pretty much everything else.
Stiles carefully eased his gloved thumb beneath the flap of the envelope, tearing it open cautiously, before he peered inside. The envelope contained a single piece of paper, along with some powder that looks suspiciously like dried wolfsbane. Stiles pulled out the piece of paper, shaking it gently to get rid of any of the powder, before he prepared a slide with the powder, sliding it under a microscope he'd grabbed when he'd been searching for the protective clothing.
Peering into the microscope, Stiles looked at the powder he'd collected. During his time with the league he'd studied poisons, in all their forms. It was an area that had interested him, and he'd learned how to recognize all of the poisons the league commonly used, as well as some that were less common. Maybe it was because of his past with werewolves, but Stiles had paid particular attention when learning to identify and differentiate between different sorts of wolfsbane.
By looking through the microscope Stiles was pretty sure he knew what sort of wolfsbane it was, and he was glad he took the precaution of putting protective gear on. It was a particularly potent variety, extremely rare and difficult to grow, although Stiles knew that the League managed to have a couple of plants growing, as it was especially harmful towards humans. Stiles had no idea how effective it was against werewolves, but he was willing to bet that it would be no walk in the park for any of his friends if they'd been dosed.
Now that he knew what he was dealing with, Stiles turned his attention to the letter, unfolding it carefully, just in case there were any more surprises is. There didn't seem to be any, although he held the letter up towards the desk lamp he'd turned on, just in case there was something hidden.
It all appeared normal, so Stiles focused on the words written on the paper. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the letter was written in English. He could read Arabic, but he didn't trust himself to mess up the translation in his head and miss something. This was far too important to risk a mistake like that.
'You have lingered in this town for too long, Stiles Stilinski. We have your friends. They are your weakness, and now we have them. What are you going to do, little fox?' the letter taunted, "We took them by surprise. You cannot hope to defeat us, you know what the league does to our weaknesses. Their powers will not save them…Long have we dealt with those of their kind.
Ra's thinks highly of you, or rather he did… The only reason we have not slain any of your friends. If you come quietly and return to Nanda Parbat they will be released, on the condition that you never return to Beacon Hills again. You will never see any of them again…your father…the werewolves…the kitsune…the Banshee…not even Oliver Queen's little friend. If you do seek them out they will be killed in front of you, and it shall be your fault. The blood of the entire pack will be on your hands.
Could you live with the guilt, Stiles? Could you live out your life with their blood on your hands?
You have until midnight to come to us to be escorted back to the league. You will be punished further there for you disloyalty. Should you not re-join us we will kill them all, and then we will hunt you down and kill you in a pool of their blood.
There will be no escaping punishment for your disloyalty'
Stiles' eyes skimmed over his words, and he swallowed, feeling more than a little sick as he read. It wasn't the most strongly worded of letters, but it got the point across. Stiles needed to give himself up, or the pack would be killed. If he ever returned to Beacon Hills, or interacted with the pack again, they would be killed.
Stiles looked out the window of the classroom, the early morning light beginning to brighten, and he frowned.
This would be his last day of freedom for him. He couldn't let the league destroy his family, he was already responsible for the deaths of Allison and Aidan and who knew how many other people in Beacon Hills. He couldn't damn his family…his pack to death.
The league wanted him back, to punish him for seeming like he had deserted them. Stiles would go back, regardless of whatever his punishment might be.
He couldn't face putting his family through more pain that what they had already experienced…not after everything they'd already gone through because of him.
A/TW
"Have you heard from them?" Felicity asked as she paced her living room, her arms crossed over her chest. Oliver shook his head in reply, glancing at the clock on the wall before rubbing his hands over his face, feeling trapped and confined while the storm raged outside.
A couple of hours had passed since Oliver had spoken to Stiles. The early summer sun was rising over the city, although it made little difference in bringing any light to the metropolis, the storm clouds and the driving rain keeping everything dark and gloomy. Oliver couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate the irony of how the weather reflected his mood.
He was powerless in this situation, completely unable to do anything to help Stiles and Roy, or any of their friends. Roy, his little half-brother, and Stiles, the kid on the island that Oliver had come to regard as a little brother, were both in danger, and Oliver wasn't able to help them, to rescue them, and it was slowly driving Oliver insane…and it only had been a few hours.
Oliver wondered what would happen if one or both of the younger men died at the hands of the league. Thea would be devastated by Roy's death, even more so once she learned about the connection between Roy and Robert Queen. While it was true that Roy and Thea were in an 'off stage' of their on and off relationship Oliver knew that Thea cared for Roy. As for Sara, Laurel, and their father, it would definitely hurt them if Stiles was killed, especially since both Laurel and her father hadn't known that Stiles had survived the Queen's Gambit. He was supposed to be safe back in Beacon Hills, and yet the league had followed him back to his home town, and who knew what had happened.
For all Oliver knew Stiles could already be dead. The league could have attacked wherever it was Roy and the others had been, killing them all, before lying in wait for Stiles to realise that something was wrong and wander in.
Anxiously, Oliver glanced at his phone in his hand, just in case he had somehow missed it ringing, only to confirm that there was no new messages in his voicemail, no missed calls…not even a short text.
"The storm's probably not helping phone reception," Felicity sighed heavily, sinking into one of her living room chairs, ringing her hands together anxiously, "I'm sure that Stiles and Roy will ring as soon as they can," she offered consolingly.
"If they can," Oliver grimly replied. Felicity blinked, but said nothing, her lips pursing just likely, her eyes revealing her pain and grief. Oliver held Felicity's gaze, the two of them united in their grief for their friends, both of them knowing that both Roy and Stiles were probably dead by now.
The long look was broken only when Oliver's phone began to ring loudly, breaking the silence within the apartment. Felicity startled, but Oliver glanced at his screen, relieved that he'd taken the time to put Stiels' phone number in his list of contacts. Stiles' name flashed on the screen, and Oliver immediately swiped the phone's screen to answer it.
"Stiles?" he growled into the phone.
"Oliver," Stiles' broken voice replied. Oliver could tell, just from the way the younger man's voice hitched, that Stiles had been crying. He sounded like he had during those first few weeks…months…on Lian Yu…broken by whatever the hell had happened back in Beacon Hills
"Stiles…what happened? Stiles, where are you? Are you safe?"
Stiles made a noise that sounded like a positive answer, although Oliver wasn't sure, before Stiles spoke, "I'm…I'm back at my dad and Melissa's house."
"What…what about Roy and your dad and the others?"
"The…the league has them, they're going to kill them Oliver." Stiles' breathing hitched again, and Oliver frowned at the sound, listening to Stiles' breathing on the phone. It sounded far too fast and rapid, as if Stiles was hyperventilating.
"Stiles, are you having a panic attack?"
"Oliver…I…I can't…they're gonna die," Stiles gasped down the phone, "I can't lose them."
"Shit," Oliver swore quietly to himself, imaging Stiles, huddled in a dark corner, rocking slightly as he tried to inhale, only for his lungs to fail him. He'd seen more than one of Stiles' panic attacks during their time together on Lian Yu, and Oliver had learned how the best way to deal with them were.
Of course, doing it over the phone was a completely different matter.
"Stiles…Stiles, listen to me. Focus on the sound of my voice," Oliver ordered in a voice that gave no room for arguing, "We will figure this out, ok. The minute the storm passes we will come to help you, and we will do everything we can to get them back, but for the moment you need to stay calm."
"Oliver," Stiles sobbed down the phone, and Oliver blinked, tears gathering in his own eyes.
"Listen to me, Stiles, listen to the sound of my breathing, and follow it, ok?"
Oliver exaggerated his breathing so Stiles would be able to hear it and use it to guide and steady his own haggard breaths. Oliver kept doing it until he was satisfied that Stiles wasn't about to have another panic attack.
"They….they want me back," Stiles stuttered, "the league. They said that if I give myself up they'll let the others go, but I can't come back…ever Oliver…I don't want to go back to the league, and what if they go back on their word and kill them all anyway."
"Stiles, slow down," Oliver coaxed, "I hate to tell you this, but the storms not letting up, and the forecast was that it'll last for at least another six to twelve hours. I'll come to Beacon Hills as soon as I can, but you have to stay calm, alright."
"Yeah, Ok," Stiles exhaled down the phone. Oliver, however, was fighting his own panic. There was no guarantee that the league would keep it's word and let go of Stiles' friends and family if Stiles gave himself up, and if Stiles gave himself up there was no certainty that the league would let him live. In fact, Oliver was pretty sure that Stiles would end up dead, regardless of who he was associated with.
"I'm going to have to do it…give myself up, I mean," Stiles sighed down the phone, "I can't just…do nothing and let the league kill them. They're my family and friends, Oliver. Other than you, Sara, Laurel, and your other allies in Starling City they have everyone I've ever given a damn about. I have to save them."
"I know Stiles, but you've got to think about this. Plan…try and predict what the league would do, but be flexible. They know that you've had training, they'll expect you to know what they'd do, and they'll do something different to throw you off. You've got to think outside the box…Sara tells me you're good at that."
"I was…before," Stiles agreed, "Lydia once said that I was the one who figured everything out."
"Any you still are. Stiles, you survived on the island better than I did at first, you've got through all those years being with the league, training. You're strong, and smart, and resourceful. You will find a way thought this. You have the home advantage."
Stiles exhaled shakily, "Thanks Oliver. I'll let you go, I want to talk to Nyssa."
"Alright. I'll call you the minute I know that I can start heading to Beacon Hills. Let me know if anything happens."
"Ok…thanks again Oliver."
"Don't worry about it Stiles." Oliver replied, before he hung up and slumped down against the window.
"Oliver?" Felicity questioned nervously.
"The league is going to kill Roy and the others if Stiles doesn't hand himself over. The thing is, there is nothing that would stop them from killing them all anyway if Stiles does, and they'll probably kill him too."
"Do you think he will hand himself over?"
"In a heartbeat," Oliver replied without hesitation, "the only reason he probably hasn't yet is because he hasn't had a chance to figure out where it is they're hiding and holding Roy and the others."
Felicity's eyes widened as she realised the implications of what Oliver said, and she sat down on the floor beside him, slinging her arm over his broad shoulder and leaning a little closer to him, trying to offer what comfort she could. Oliver glared out the window at the raging storm that was preventing him from rushing to Stiles' side…and from saving Roy from danger.