a/n: up early because we won the slash madness tournament round 3. chapter music this week is sweet victory, because of reasons. next chapter will be up the usual time.

CHAPTER FOUR

The jeeps rolled in at seven o'clock on the dot. Two of them, carrying about a dozen security workers from the facility. Scott could hear them approaching from a mile off, it was hard not to.

He lay in his bunk in the one story living quarter he'd taken up residence in. It was small, one bathroom, no kitchen and just two thin chairs in the corner to call a sitting area. He had a couple shelves and drawers built into the walls, and he'd made sure to hide all the things Stiles had smuggled in for him the night before. They didn't usually inspect his living space, never had a reason to but Scott took extra care in stowing the things away just in case.

The jeeps came to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, by Scott's hearing. He listened to the footsteps of the security guards as they piled out, the clicking of their guns as they were loaded and prepped just in case the residents tried anything. No one ever did, it would be suicide, but the guards always came packing anyway.

The day before Isaac, Erica and Boyd had offered to hang around when they came for him, but Scott had told them to clear out to avoid any confrontation.

He didn't stir, not even when he heard them approaching. Not even when they were a yard away, not until the pounding came at his door.

"Resident zero-one-one, Scott McCall, you are ordered to vacate the premise and present yourself for inspection," came muffled through the door. Scott knew they wouldn't ask twice, so he heaved himself up and went to the door. He took just a second to steady himself, then opened it.

Hands were on him instantly. Two security guards on either side of him, both padded in layers of thick protective gear, took a grip on his upper arms; several more similarly dressed were waiting a few feet away with restraints. Scott hated them, but it wouldn't be worth it to put up a fight. They walked him away from his house, towards the jeeps and prepared the restraints.

"Be advised we are authorized to use extreme force in the event that you resist restraint. Do you understand, resident?" the masked guard by his side asked him. Scott knew they didn't care one way or another if he did, some of them were even itching for it. Asking was protocol.

"I understand," came his tight reply. The restraints were thick leather straps that leashed his arms to his sides, which weren't so bad. They were a little hard to move in but if Scott really tried he could break them. They, however, were only the first. After his arms were restrained another guard behind him shoved his head to the side with a jerk that Scott recoiled against. Before he could right himself he felt the sharp piercing pain of an injection gun to the side of his neck. It was a mild sedative, meant to make werewolves more manageable for inspections. Supposedly the stuff also suppressed the shift, but Scott had never pushed it to see if it really would stop him. It did make him drowsy, and it only took seconds for him to start to feel the effects. He swayed a little where he stood, but hands on him held him upright. Numbness came next, not enough to entirely knock out his sense of feeling, but enough to cloud it. He felt heavy, it was hard to keep his head up and eyes focused. The last part of their restraints was the part Scott hated most. A thick leather muzzle was strapped around his mouth and clasped at the back of his head, a la Hannibal Lecter. That's who Scott tried to picture when he felt the muzzle pulled securely into place. A dangerous criminal, but still human, and not the wild and dangerous animal they thought he was.

After he was deemed safe enough to transport, Scott was prodded with the butts of guns towards the waiting jeeps, kept idling in the clearing. He stumbled towards it on heavy feet, no one next to him to help him this time. They weren't very careful loading him into the cage attached to the back of the second jeep, they threw him in the tight space with little concern that he flopped down on the hard metal with enough force to dislocate his shoulder had he been human and a little less durable. The cage was slammed shut, orders were shouted to move out. Scott's jeep took off first, and as Scott attempted to shift as best he could into a sitting position, he watched the clearing disappear behind him.

As they turned a bend in the dirt road that was more a footpath, Scott caught a glimpse of someone in the trees he hadn't been expecting to see. Derek was watching them leave, and briefly he locked eyes with Scott. Derek's face was contorted in fury, he looked ready to shift, and Scott wished he could shout some words of assurance to him. But it was all he could do to keep upright as the jeep bounced along back to the facility for his checkup day.

Alright, maybe Stiles was going nuts but he was actually starting to miss tour guide duty. Finstock had never set him in the gift shop this many days consecutively in a row, and Stiles was running out of ways to keep himself entertained in the excessive amounts of downtime involved in manning the gift shop cash register. It was barely noon, an hour away from his lunch break and Stiles had restocked the shelves, swept the floor, rearranged all the magazines in the display into alphabetical order by title, twice, and had resorted to counting the dots on the ceiling tiles while he waited for customers to amble in. The day was particularly slow, not much in the way of traffic in the sanctuary that day. Cell phones were strictly off limits on work hours, and that was one thing Finstock actually was a hardass about, otherwise Stiles would've distracted himself with Candy Crush or something to quell the boredom because damn. Stiles was bored. Bored, bored, bored.

Maybe this was some kind of ingenious torture cooked up by Finstock - Stiles had always considered gift shop duty infinitely better than being on tour guide, but maybe this was his way of turning Stiles against the one refuge he thought he had. The bastard.

Stiles sat on the stool behind the counter and glowered at the sheer magnitude of how much he hated Finstock and tried not to watch the clock as it dwindled down his time until lunch. He barely noticed when someone came to the register with purchases in hand. He was sluggish to move and ring them up, despite the relief from the monotony their arrival did provide. He paid just enough attention to note their employee vest and remember to give them a discount, but it wasn't until he heard a staccato of hard fingernails against the counter that he snapped out of it. He knew that impatient tapping.

"Lydia? Wh-what are you doing here?" he blurted out. Lydia never made purchases in the gift shop. Stiles bought her things and traded them for favors, not the other way around. He looked down at what she was getting. "I swear to god I didn't forget. Look," he pointed down the counter to where a small case of her snacks waited. "I was totally going to bring them by on my break." Lydia waved her hand.

"Doesn't matter, wanted to tell you what I found out about what you asked," she said, and glanced around. Stiles leaned forward on the counter, all ears.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Laura Hale was captured," she said. Stiles frowned.

"What - but someone would've, we would've heard about it-,"

"There's no mistake. I pulled up her file, with a little help from Danny over in IT-,"

"Danny, wait," Stiles interrupted. He knew that name. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Like Jackson's friend Danny?" The second the words were out of his mouth he bit his lip, eyes wide.

Foot, meet mouth.

Shit, he fucked up. He should not have said that, and mentally he was smacking himself six ways from Sunday.

He watched Lydia, gauging her reaction. She'd stilled on the mention of Jackson's name, averted her eyes. It was brief, it passed in a moment and then she was steeling herself in her usual expression of disdain she reserved for when Stiles was in her presence. She cleared her throat and continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"Laura Hale's file was updated a little over a month ago, but the only added information was the listing of Oak Creek," she said, voice even. Stiles waited a beat to see if she'd turn and leave or smack him or burst into tears or anything of the more hysterical variety at the mention of her dead boyfriend's name, but she was Lydia and she was as unruffled as ever.

"Oak Creek, what is that, is that like another sanctuary?" Stiles asked, but Lydia shrugged.

"I don't know, probably. I would assume that's where she was sent if she was captured. And you're right, it was the Argents."

"But where's Oak Creek?" Stiles pressed.

"I don't know, Stiles. I don't care, either. You only asked me to see if she'd been caught. She has, end of story." So she said, but her gaze ventured away from Stiles momentarily. Stiles focused on her. Something was off, and it wasn't what he'd said about Jackson.

"Lydia, what is it?" he asked. She didn't meet his eyes. "Lydia, what?" She huffed, turned to him.

"I don't know. Nothing. Maybe. It's probably nothing. I just…had a feeling, reading over her file."

"A feeling?"

"Like something was out of place," she said, then she shook her head. "It's probably nothing. Oak Creek is probably another sanctuary in the area. Makes sense they wouldn't transfer her back here, not after what happened."

"Yeah but then why would they have put Derek here?" Stiles mused. It didn't add up.

"Maybe they wanted to keep them apart, maybe they thought together they'd try and escape again. Who knows," she said, but she didn't sound convinced.

"Thanks," Stiles said. Lydia smiled.

"No problem," she said, then paused. "…But I'm going to double check things, just in case I missed something," she said, mostly to herself.

"Okay. And seriously Lydia, thanks."

To his surprise, Scott's mom stopped him on his way upstairs to the café for lunch. Stiles had decided that day was a no go to see Scott and he'd wait until Lydia had more information to go in with. What they knew so far was pretty big news, but Stiles didn't want to drop it on Derek without giving him something else to go on. Stiles wasn't sure why he cared so much, and what difference it would make for Derek to know, but still. Something in Stiles wanted to see this through, be it empathy or a hyperactive brain and an unhealthy curiosity.

Anyway, Ms. McCall.

"Stiles," she whisper-shouted from across the hall to get his attention. He startled, then turned and saw her.

"Ms. McCall?" She walked over hurriedly, grabbed his arm and steered him away from the staircase.

"Just be quiet, hold these and follow me," she said, and handed him a stack of manila folders. Stiles took them without protest. She steered him to the employee room, to the elevator and slid her key card to open the doors. Bewildered, Stiles began to ask what the heck she was doing, but she shushed him and keyed the code.

"Don't look at anyone, don't talk to anyone, and act like you know where you're going," she told him. He nodded, and fought the urge to tell her he knew well how to sneak about downstairs. He kept his mouth shut and figured she would explain things at some point.

The doors opened and she ushered him out of the elevator and down the hall. To his surprise she turned him down his familiar route to the processing rooms and for a moment he felt a spike of panic, but she turned two doors ahead of his secret entry hatch. Another swipe of her key card was required to get in this door, and another code to open it. The door hissed open and Melissa shoved Stiles inside, looking both ways down the hallway to make sure no one had seen them.

"Stiles!" Stiles whipped around at his name to see Scott sitting on the processing room table.

"I told you I'd see what I could do," Melissa said, looking quite proud of herself. She checked her wrist watch against the one on the wall. "Now, you boys have five minutes. I know it's not much, but that's all I can give you, okay?" Stiles nodded, and she gave them a thumbs up and left, giving them some privacy she assumed they needed. After all, supposedly they hadn't seen each other since the last time she'd snuck Stiles in for a visit on his checkup day some months ago. When she left, the two turned to each other and snickered.

"So, we should probably get a good tearful reunion going on for her by the time she gets back," Stiles said, setting the stack of decoy folders down on a countertop. He wondered what they actually were, but didn't care enough to peruse through them.

"Maybe, she looked so conspiratorial when she left. I'd wondered what she was up to," Scott laughed. Scott looked healthy as ever, and Stiles knew the checkups were perfunctory at best and at worst an excuse to order the wolves around like lab animals. Scott was sitting on the metal table, hunched forward with his legs swinging over the side and his elbows on his knees. He was shirtless, dressed in only a pair of grey sweatpants with no shoes. There was a probe attached to his chest a couple inches below the collar bone, and another under his heart. Stiles tried very hard not to think about their situation too much, how if he hadn't found a way in to see Scott this would've been all he had. Only seeing his best friend once a month at the most. It gave Stiles a tight feeling in his chest thinking about it, and he could only imagine how Scott had to feel about it all. Which is why Stiles tried so hard not to talk about it, because talking about it made all the shit they had to deal with unbearable. Laughing it off and cracking stupid jokes to ease his friend's mind off it, that was Stiles' specialty.

Scott glanced nervously up at the camera on the wall. Stiles followed his gaze, but shook his head.

"Don't worry about that, its recording video but not sound. We're cool in here," he said.

"But…won't they still see you?" Scott asked. Stiles waved off his concerns.

"They're not watching these too closely. If someone is even checking, they'll assume I'm just a lab technician or whatever. They don't care unless one of you is trying to escape," Stiles explained.

"Oh, good. Great. I just…I wish I could tell her, Stiles," Scott said with a heavy sigh. Stiles knew what he meant, they'd had the debate before. Scott wanted to let his mom in on Stiles' infiltration method, knowing she'd probably want to use it too to get into to see Scott.

"I know buddy. If you really wanted to, I could," Stiles offered. Scott thought it over for a moment, then sighed again and ran his fingers through his thick hair. Haircuts were offered on checkup days, but they never did a good job and Scott always ended up with a bowl cut when the other technicians did it. His mom was usually good enough so he didn't end up looking like a shaggy dog. Perhaps they'd forgone it today in favor of giving him and Scott some time to catch up.

"No," Scott said finally. "I couldn't put her in that position. Plus if they ever found out they might fire her and separate us permanently. I…I can't do that to her, Stiles."

"I get it, I get it. She'd never master my ninja skills anyway."

"Your what?"

"Never mind that. It's not important anyway. Now that I have you here though, can I give you a message for Derek?" Stiles asked.

"Sure, what is it?"

"I had Lydia look into our little Laura problem. She got ahold of her file with the facility and Derek's right, she was captured, about two months ago," Stiles explained. Scott furrowed his eyebrows.

"What? No way. So how did that get hushed up? Shouldn't you guys have known?"

"That's what's weird about this all, yes, we should have. So that means the matter was hushed up, and that's an even bigger problem we've got on our hands. Why was the news of her capture suppressed? Who would do that, and what would be the point if it?" Stiles mused. Scott shook his head, as lost as Stiles felt.

"I don't know man, but I'll pass on the message to Derek."

"Thanks. Oh, and one more thing. Oak Creek was listed on Laura's file, tell him that. It's the sanctuary she was transferred to, supposedly. Never heard of it, though." Scott nodded.

"Okay, I'll tell him."

"How are you guys getting along, by the way? He seemed the scary axe murderer type when I encountered him so briefly. Is he still giving off those vibes? Has he tried axe murdering anyone in there yet?"

"What? No. No, I don't think he's like that. He's intimidating…but I really don't think he's like that at all. I think he's more bark than bite," Scott said.

"I'll ignore that terrible pun buddy and I'll also take your word for it. I may wanna help the guy but I'd rather not be in the same space as him like, ever again," Stiles said. Just remembering gave him a thrill of something close to what he felt popping in Saw V. Anticipation, maybe, but the visceral anticipation of fear and/or bodily harm.

The two whiled away the rest of their minutes comparing Derek Hale to various historically notable and/or famous fictional serial killers, trying to find which one his glare most reminded them of and all too soon a knock came at the door and Melissa slipped back inside.

"I'm sorry Stiles, but that's all the time I can give you. I just double checked, it's all clear back on the way up. You should be able find your way back okay, and if anyone stops you just tell them I brought you down here because I forgot my purse or something. Alright?" Stiles nodded, agreed he'd make it back just fine, and paused to say goodbye to Scott. To make it look convincing, they went in for a hug and Stiles even went as far as to rub his thumb across Scott's shoulder. It may have been for show, but the two held on for just a touch longer than necessary to convince Melissa, and Stiles may or may not have felt his eyes prick. Maybe. You couldn't prove anything. Then he pulled back.

"Good luck in there, buddy," he said. Scott nodded, and then Stiles left. Melissa shut the door behind him.

Scott watched Stiles go, a lump in his throat. He coughed it down, shaking himself out of it. He'd see Stiles again in a day or two, he was sure of it. Stiles hadn't said anything, but Scott had heard his heart every second he had been in the room. Stiles was good at playing things down, easing the tension and brushing off the serious stuff, talents Scott was endlessly grateful for, but he could tell when Stiles was feeling things deeper than he let on. Scott only pretended not to notice.

Scott and his mother were left alone in the processing room, and she came closer to detach the probes from his skin.

"Your vitals are fine, you're fit as a fiddle honey," she declared him, picking up a clipboard from the counter behind her and flipping through the pages.

"One less thing to worry about, then," Scott said with a little laugh. Melissa tried to echo it, but it fell flat. She sighed heavily.

"You sure you don't feel even a little sick? Not a tickle in your throat maybe, or a limp? An ingrown toenail even?" she asked.

"No, mom, I swear I'm fine," Scott said.

"Nothing? No earthly reason I can keep you here overnight?" she was desperate. Scott shook his head though.

"Seriously mom," he said, putting on his most reassuring smile. "I'm okay." She reached up gingerly, smoothing his hair away from his face, letting her hand rest on his cheek. The two were quiet for a long while, until Scott could hear her heartbeat quicken and see the tale-tell signs of her becoming upset. Even before the change, Scott had been good at guessing when his mother was about to cry. He'd had enough experience to figure out the signs after his dad had left. Scott pulled her into a hug, squeezing her as tight as he dared. She squeezed back, as hard as she could, as if she never wanted to let him go.

Derek was agitated, to say the least. Watching Scott be carted off that morning had taken every ounce of willpower not to jump the guards and start ripping throats, and that was just on principle. Not because he felt protective of the kid or anything.

Definitely not.

While definitely not brooding and worrying about the younger werewolf, Derek paced in the clearing. So far he'd done his best to stay away from the commons outside the recreation hall, and only came in to get food when no one else was around. But Derek had nothing better to do than wait around the area until Scott was returned. It was taking longer than it should have, and Derek was growing more agitated by the second. He couldn't smell Scott, hadn't been able to pick up his scent since they'd whisked him off that morning, but he was waiting for it. The second Scott was back in the sanctuary Derek would be able to smell him, and the fact that he still couldn't several hours after they should've been done with him was starting to worry him.

So Derek paced. Then he paced a bit more. Then he growled in frustration, sat down on the steps of the recreaction hall, and stayed there for several minutes before becoming too agitated to sit still and rose to pace some more. This pattern continued for some half an hour before he settled for sitting on the steps, elbows on his knees, glowering at the leaf-strewn dirt path the guards had disappeared down that morning. When he smelled another approaching him, he looked up briefly and only long enough to take in that it was another of the younger wolves. Derek didn't know him, but he could smell Scott on him. They two must have been friends.

"Are you waiting for Scott?" the kid asked.

"No."

"Sure, well, if you're worried about him don't be," the kid continued regardless. Derek looked pointedly away from him. Without invitation the kid sat down, a couple steps higher and a few feet away from him.

"Checkups don't take that long," Derek muttered.

"Scott's do. His mom is a technician up there and she's usually in charge of them. She likes keeping him there as long as she can," the kid explained. Derek turned to look at him.

"His mom?" he echoed. The kid was leaning back, relaxed. He looked unconcerned, but when he met Derek's glance there was something of an accusation there.

"Yes. His mother, she's worked there a long time. Scott told you how he ended up in here, didn't he?" the kid asked. Derek nodded.

"The assault…," he let it trail. The kid gave him a hard look, nodded, then finally turned away from Derek to stare across the clearing.

"Why do you think Scott was down there? He was there bringing her dinner or her car keys or something. I don't know, it doesn't matter. Now he's here and she's there."

"She stayed?"

"She won't leave him. It's the only way to see him now, so she's not going anywhere. She's really sweet though, if you get her during your checkups she'll do them a lot more nicely than the others. And she might even do a decent job with your hair cut if you ask her to." Derek honestly didn't know what to say to that revelation, or if he even wanted to say anything to the kid. He sensed faint hostility there, and while he didn't think the kid would attack him he sure didn't like Derek. Why he bothered to tell all that to him Derek didn't know. He took in the information and then they let the conversation drop. Both waited in silence for Scott's return.

Of course they didn't give him a ride back. As soon as he was done and his mom couldn't legally keep him any longer, Scott was sealed in the processing room and the interior door was locked. A couple minutes passed and then the outer door unlocked with several mechanical clunks and hisses, and when it swung open Scott stepped through back into the sanctuary. If he hesitate or waited, he knew the guards would come back and be less nice about asking him to leave. They'd have guns with them then, and cattle prods that gave a little extra jolt of upwards of five hundred thousand volts of electricity. Scott had no reason to stick around anyway, so he went as soon as the door was open and didn't stay to watch it swing close and seal. He was a little cold without the shirt that they hadn't returned to him, and barefoot as well but that hardly bothered him. It'd be a long walk back to his house, and all he wanted was to climb into his bunk and sleep away the after effects of the sedatives he was still feeling. He wasn't much in a mood to talk to anyone, but he figured he might as well find Derek before crashing and tell him what Stiles had told him.

When he finally made his way back to the clearing, he was surprised to find Derek and Isaac sitting on the steps of the recreation building. He jogged over to them and they perked up when he met them.

"Hey Isaac, Derek," he greeted with a small wave. Derek was eyeing him warily, and Scott recalled the last time he'd seen him.

"Thanks," he said to Derek. A look of confusing swept Derek's features.

"For what?" he asked.

"For this morning," Scott said. Derek huffed, looked away.

"I didn't do anything."

"I meant thanks for getting all indignant on my behalf. But I was alright," Scott reassured him. Derek looked like he was about to deny ever worrying about him in the first place, claim he didn't care or anything like that. Derek pushed off the steps, standing.

"Good," was all he said, and he made to leave.

"Wait, Derek-," Scott caught him before he could disappear. "Stiles told me to let you know what he found out about your sister." Derek turned.

"What, does he know where she is?" Scott made a face.

"Well, sort of. He said Lydia managed to find her file, and you were right. The Argents did capture her like you said."

"Okay, and? Where is she now?"

"There's only one thing written on her file, a name, Oak Creek." Scott watched Derek's face blanch. Derek's eyes went wide and his mouth parted, but the shock lasted only a moment. It devolved quickly into confusion, eyebrows knit together. He turned away from Scott, shaking his head.

"No, that doesn't make any sense. Why there?," he whispered, mostly to himself but Scott caught it.

He knew the name alright.