a/n: here's chapter five, it's a tad longer than the last ones I hope you enjoy. this week's chapter accompaniment is all is violent, all is bright by god is an astronaut
It was a rare day, a Sunday, which was not particularly rare itself (statistically speaking there were around 52 of them a year - Stiles had looked it up), but this Sunday was rare because it was Stiles' day off, and he didn't have very many of those. Working at the sanctuary tended to be a full time thing, as they were often understaffed and most of the time they needed all hands on deck during the usually busy summer months. And Stiles didn't often ask for days off - he liked working for the money and a day off meant no excuse to be at the facility to see Scott. But union laws were what they were and Stiles usually had a couple days off a month. That Sunday happened to be the first day off of his that month, and he was about to spend it doing something rather unpleasant.
Stiles had left his house early that morning. He usually slept in on days off, but something had been bugging him and he'd risen with the sun to get an early breakfast and sit around his room contemplating what he was planning on doing. Then, when it was a decent enough hour, he'd changed out of his pajamas and hopped into his jeep. Half an hour later he was almost to his destination, a row of nicer houses than his own in the subdivision a couple lights from his house. He turned down one road in particular and read the numbers carefully, as he hadn't been there in a while. He remembered the general location but had looked up the address so he had an exact destination. When he came up to the one he was looking for he slowed his jeep, parked on the side of the road and turned the vehicle off.
He studied the house for a minute, hands on the wheel. This wasn't a good idea. This was a very, very bad idea but Stiles needed answers and this was the only place he could think of to look for them. A big part of him really didn't want to do this, wanted to turn the key in the ignition, start the jeep up and drive away, but the thought of Scott and Derek and how he was the only one who could do this firmed his resolve.
With a deep sigh he shoved his mix feelings to the back of his mind and hopped out of the jeep. He walked up the driveway, up the path to the door and rang the Argent's doorbell. Stiles hoped against hope, but it was indeed Allison Argent that answered the door.
"Stiles?" she said, after a beat. "What are you doing here?" And just like that, Stiles completely blanked on everything he'd been planning on saying to her. He'd rehearsed what he was going to ask, he'd been practicing over and over again on the drive over in his head. But standing there in front of her, every sentence of forced civility flew away into the wind.
There it went, gone.
"It's been two years, Allison," he blurted out, unable to keep the tone of accusation out of his voice. She took a step away from the door, a guarded expression falling over her face.
"What do you want, Stiles?" she asked, her reply carefully neutral.
"I want you to care. Scott's been there two years and you haven't been by once," he said hotly.
"It's not like I could see him even if I went, Stiles," she said, her tone defensive, but hurt as well. Stiles glared at the Hunter, feeling his insides churn with emotions from the past, remembering the hate and betrayal he felt when Scott was taken from him. This isn't what he wanted to say to her. Well, it was, and he'd been wanting to say it to her for a very long time now, but this wasn't what he had come here today for. He couldn't help it, though, and couldn't stop himself from unloading two years of frustration with Scott's ex-girlfriend. Ex, because after Scott's accident she'd acted like she didn't even care.
"There are phones, video chat, your family could swing visitation rights and you know it so don't pull that shit with me, Allison," he ground out. "It's Scott. You two were in fucking love, for God's sake. Or he was with you. Do you really just not give a shit about him anymore?" Now everything was coming out, and Stiles felt like he was on fire. "Do you realize how much he misses you? Do you have any idea what it's like for him in there?" Stiles' voice raised in increments during his tirade, ending on a shout. Allison didn't flinch, but her eyes narrowed a fraction, showing her stony expression was masking something else. She waited for Stiles to continue, and when he didn't she looked down, away from him. She couldn't hold his glare.
"Is that all you wanted to say to me?" she asked, impassive and made of steel. Stiles felt like he could punch something. Probably not her, because she was a goddamn ninja or something, training to be a hunter like her parents and she'd probably have him in a strangle hold before his fist could connect.
"How heartless are you?" he spat instead. Her face darkened, and it was like Stiles had cracked the dam.
"Heartless? Heartless? You know what, screw you Stiles. Do you remember what else happened two years ago?" she practically shouted, flinging the door open and stepping out onto the threshold. "My mother died. You remember who killed her? The Hales. So yeah, I've got mixed feelings about going up there, Stiles," she shot right back at him. "Now. Is that all you wanted to say?" She kept her voice even, controlled, but Stiles could tell it was taking her a lot to do that.
Suddenly, he felt like more of an ass than he knew he had a right to be. Yes, he'd been angry with her for two years but he knew most of that anger wasn't because of her. It was aimed more largely at the whole shit situation, and Allison's distance wasn't really what he wanted to yell and scream and shout at. Still, he wasn't going to apologize for what he'd said because he had meant those things.
Well, maybe not the last part. Not entirely.
"No, no I'm didn't come here just to say that to you," Stiles said after a moment. He shoved away anything else he wanted to throw at her, looked her in the eye. "I have something else I want to ask you."
"I won't promise I'll answer. What do you want?"
"Fair enough. Were you there when they caught Derek or Laura?" She glared, a nerve touched, but Stiles wanted to know. Whether or not she'd answer was up to her, he just wanted to ask.
"No. I wasn't. I'm not licensed yet to go on hunts. Won't be until I turn eighteen in a year," she said. That right there was another argument waiting to happen, and they both knew it. The ball was in Stiles' court, metaphorically, and it was up to him if he wanted to get into that moral can of worms. Knowing she was still planning on following in her family's footsteps… Stiles shoved the thought of it away. He had another question and getting into another debate wasn't worth not getting it answered.
"Do you know where they transferred Laura?" She thought for a moment.
"No…I really don't. I knew they weren't sending her back to Beacon Hills, but all I heard is she was transferred elsewhere in state," she said. Stiles nodded.
"One last question - does the name Oak Creek mean anything to you?" She shook her head.
"No. Why, should it?"
"I don't know. Maybe not."
"Is it another sanctuary? Why are you asking?" Stiles considered how much he wanted to tell her.
"No, I don't think it is another sanctuary," he said. "I Googled it last night, there's no sanctuary in the US named Oak Creek. All it turned up was some town in Wisconsin, and I highly doubt that's where-," Stiles backtracked, catching himself rambling. Allison gave him a look.
"Where what? Where Laura was transferred?"
"No - it's nothing, never mind. Forget I said anything, it's not important," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "That's all I wanted, catch you later." He started to go.
"Stiles-," Allison called after him. He turned halfway down the driveway.
"If…if you can, call him, or something, video chat or get a visit somehow. Can you tell him…I'm sorry?" Her eyebrows were drawn together, she looked conflicted, as if she hadn't wanted to say that but it had just slipped out. Stiles thought about it.
"Are you?" he asked. Her face caved, and for all he'd been mad at her, he hated seeing her look like that.
"I am. I really am. Stiles, I'm sorry. I just…I don't know. I can't, I can't do it. I can't see him. I can't see him and not think-," she faltered. In a way, Stiles understood. That didn't stop him from being angry with her, but he understood how she felt.
"If I get the chance, yeah, I'll let him know," Stiles said.
xx
Stiles didn't spend the rest of his day off doing anything special. He'd gone back to his house after talking to Allison and whiled away the day surfing the web for anything else he could find on Oak Creek, whatever that was. It wasn't a sanctuary, that was for certain. Stiles had checked the list of registered sanctuaries in the US. It wasn't an international sanctuary either, because there weren't any. Only the US had them, other countries dealt with werewolves differently. Most just threw them in prison along with their human inmates, and that was the nicer places. Here werewolves had at least a modicum of respect for their rights as citizens.
Regardless of the problems with the rest of the world, Stiles couldn't find a listing for a sanctuary called Oak Creek, or even one in or near the town of the same name in Wisconsin. So he had to rule that out as a possible location for their missing Hale. What Oak Creek could be, and what it had to do with Laura Hale was anyone's guess at this point. The vast resource that was the internet had turned up nothing but goose eggs for Stiles.
So, frustrated with lack of headway in the case, Stiles did what Stiles did best with copious amounts of time and an unsolved question on his hands.
He made an investigation wall.
Granted, he didn't have much to tack up yet, just a printout of Derek Hale's mug shot he'd gotten from Lydia, a newspaper clipping of a story in their local rag about Derek's capture, a picture of Laura from a similar article that was a few years old detailing their escape, and a sticky note with 'Oak Creek?' written on it and circled in red.
Alright, so because that was all he had to work with at the moment, the endeavor didn't end up taking much of his time beyond finding the cup of stick pins his dad had hidden so he'd stop marking up the drywall. The rest of the day stretched in front of Stiles, and he ended up wasting it away on video games, bad TV shows and junk food. Evening rolled around as he reached his sixth straight episode of Jersey Shore and the mind-numbing boredom was curtailed by his father's arrival.
"Hey, kiddo, what'd you cook for dinner?" his dad called as he walked in, hung up his gear on the rack by the door, and shuffled into the living room. It was an agreement that whenever Stiles had a day off he'd get dinner together for the two of them, because his dad was usually in and out of work before him on Stiles' work days and cooked on most evenings. But dinner a la Stiles usually meant something along the lines of watery macaroni, mashed potatoes the consistency of Play-Doh, or burnt toast. Stiles was a culinary genius with Top Ramen, though.
Tonight the fare consisted of delivery pizza, as Stiles wasn't feeling particularly brave with the kitchen ware that night. Stiles said so and his dad made a grunting noise that was somewhere between relief and resignation. Stiles liked to imagine it was one of gratitude. Both of them knew Stiles couldn't cook. His dad likes to pretend he could to not hurt his feelings, but the truth hung in the air like the awful smell that lingered every time Stiles tried to make anything involving eggs.
He could hear his dad rummage around in the kitchen for a paper plate, neither of them liked doing dishes, and grab a slice. His father walked to the couch and plopped down on the other end. The two passed a while in silence, following the life of celebrities and the ridiculous shit they got into. Stiles had moved into a nirvana state of not caring about how mind-numbing it was by that point, and the noise from the TV served only to lull him slowly to a sleepy state before he'd inevitably peel himself from the couch and trudge upstairs to bed. He had a good half hour to go before he'd make it to that point yet, so one more episode it was.
Thus an average evening passed in the Stilinski household. Until, that is, his dad cleared his throat like he was about to say something.
"So, uh. Melissa told me what she did the other day," Stiles' father said abruptly, breaking the silence. Stiles almost hadn't registered he'd spoken at first, then when his addled mind processed his dad's words, he sat up a little straighter.
"And what did she do the other day?" Stiles asked, opting for playing dumb on the chance his father wasn't talking about what Stiles sincerely hoped he wasn't.
"About how she smuggled you downstairs to see Scott." Stiles winced.
"Oh. That."
"Yeah, that." A minute passed, Stiles was at a loss. His father was head of security after all, and that was a pretty big breach in, well, security.
"She couldn't help it, she said she felt bad keeping it from me. So she told me."
"…I see," Stiles said cautiously.
"I'm not mad, and I'm not going to stop you. I know…how hard it's been for you without Scott, so, just, be careful, alright? That's highly…you know, against the rules. Illegal. Very bad stuff, kid. Don't get caught," his dad warned.
"Thanks, pop. Wasn't planning on it."
"That's my ass on the line now, my job. Watch yourself," his dad tried to say sternly, but Stiles just cracked up.
"I'd thought for sure you'd bust a gasket if you knew, sorry we didn't tell you sooner," Stiles said, feeling a little guilty for hiding something much, much worse from not only his dad but from Melissa as well. Would his dad be as understanding if Stiles admitted what else he'd been doing?
No. No he probably would not. Stiles planned on keeping that to himself for the foreseeable future, but he was glad his dad was okay with this little development.
"I'm gonna go collapse in my bed now," Stiles said, standing. "Early shift tomorrow, and all that jazz."
"Alright. Night, kiddo," his father said as Stiles went.
xx
The staff were gathered in the employee break room in the morning for job assignments, the little over two dozen of them crammed around the small space as they waited for Finstock to finish the roster in his office. Lydia stood nearby Stiles, though her presence at these meetings was perfunctory at best. She never worked anything other than reception desk. Ever. Stiles figured she must have had Finstock bribed off somehow.
Finally, their boss emerged from his cubbyhole of an office and flipped through the list on his clip board.
"Alright kiddies, job assignment time. I'm sure you're all excited, but before I begin, a few announcements. The upstairs girl's bathroom is out of order, you don't wanna knowwhy. Stay out of there, keep guests away from it. Should have a guy come down later today to take a look, and boy I do not envy him that job. Whew. Anyway. Ah, let's see here, we've got an inventory shipment due later this week for the gift shop so someone's gotta go through all that. And we've got a few boxes of supplies that need to be carted downstairs. Volunteers'll get a temporary pass for the elevator," at this, Stiles perked up, "Put your hand down Greenberg, you're not stepping one foot downstairs. Not again, head technician says you're banned for life-," Stiles took the chance to raise his hand. Finstock saw him. "Fine, Stilinski it is. Come see me on your break. Now, one last thing - no more sex in the left wing janitor's closet. I swear to god, if I catch any more of you in there - keep it in your pants. Please. For my sanity, and for your health. C'mon guys, do you even know what's been in there? Be reasonable. Alright, that's it," Finstock ended on that pleasant note.
Then, he started unceremoniously reading off names and calling out jobs, and once he started employees began trickling out when theirs came up. It was alphabetical, so Stiles had a bit of a wait. Lydia did too, but she didn't look interested in a conversation with him at the moment and he wasn't sure he wanted to try and tell her what Allison had told him just yet. He wasn't sure what she and Allison's relationship was like these days, as they had once been pretty close. He never pressed for details, and hadn't asked Lydia to go to Allison in his stead.
Lydia's name was called for reception desk before he could make up his mind, so there went that opportunity. Eventually, after nearly half the others had gone, it was Stiles' turn.
"Stilinski - tours," Finstock called.
"What?" was Stiles' knee-jerk response. Finstock looked up from his clipboard, wicked smile in place.
"It's the first. You've got a whole month of reports to rack up, bucko," Finstock said, then made a 'scram' gesture with his hand. Stiles seethed, mood plummeting. This was just fucking perfect.
xx
Stiles wanted to beat his head into the concrete wall instead of simply standing there leaning up against it. He stood near enough the sign that said 'Tours: gather here' to see if and when there was a large enough group gathered there for him to swoop in and whisk them off on a learning adventure, but thus far there weren't any takers.
Finstock, the asshole. Stiles should've kept track of his days in the gift shop, but he hadn't felt there'd been that many of them. The sweet time, he should've cherished it more. How he longed for the sweet blissful carefreeness of not being on tour duty.
Maybe if he hid the sign he wouldn't have to take any groups that day. It didn't look like there was anyone coming anyway, and some days it was like this. Maybe, if the universe chose to smile down upon him that particular Monday, which was highly unlikely given it was a Monday, maybe no one would show up at all and he could spend the day dicking around and getting paid for doing nothing. Oh, that would piss Finstock off royally.
As he was lost in the beautiful imagery that was a very angry Finstock and a guide-free day for him, Stiles didn't notice Lydia walk up to him. Still wasn't aware of her, not until she grabbed one of his arms and yanked him out of his reverie.
"Ow, Lydia - what-," he tried to ask as he was towed along, but she shushed him and moved quickly and all he could do was stumble to try and keep up with her. She led him down the corridor from the reception desk, down the left hall past a couple conference rooms that hardly saw use outside of school field trip presentations, and to the janitor's closet across from the men's bathroom. She opened the door, shoved him inside and was quick to close it behind them.
"I don't want to hear a word about where we are, we are not here for that. So you can erase that little bit of hope you have for knowing what my chap-stick tastes like," Lydia said without hesitation, effectively cutting off exactly what Stiles was totally thinking about. He couldn't help it, really. This was a well-known make out spot. Stiles had many a fantasy about a situation much like this, being in here with Lydia, but he honestly never thought any of them were going to play out.
"Not thinking about that, I swear. You need to tell me something away from other ears, right?" he asked. She nodded.
"Yes, it's about what you asked me to look into. I did," she said.
"I did a little too," Stiles replied. "I looked up Oak Creek, and there-,"
"There is no Oak Creek sanctuary, yes, I know. But that's not all I found out," she cut him off and continued. "It took me and Danny a while and I owe him big time for helping me, but we were able to pull a couple other files from the database. More that were tagged with Oak Creek." Stiles looked at her.
"Alright, so what is it? Where is it? And which other files?" Her expression darkened. There was something tight about her lips that made unbidden images rise to his mind. Bad ones, ones of people in doctor's coats who had come to tell him and his father his mother's diagnosis. Stiles got the feeling he wasn't going to like what Lydia was about to tell him. She took a deep, steadying breath.
"There were somewhere under a dozen names connected to Oak Creek, most of them I didn't recognize. But two of them, not including Laura Hale, were Peter Hale and…," she trailed. Her eyes closed and she pressed her lips together. She opened her eyes, and looked right into Stiles.
"And Jackson Whittemore," she finished.
"Lydia…," he whispered. Stiles felt like an ice cube had dropped down his esophagus and into his stomach, and instead of melting it was sitting there growing colder and colder and chilling his insides. Lydia nodded solemnly, letting her gaze drop. Stiles was quiet. He almost wanted to reach out, touch her somehow, hug her. Not because they were in the make out janitor's closet, but because he genuinely wanted to comfort her. Her tough exterior was cracking, he could see tears building in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. No tears were about to ruin her makeup.
"I know, I'm fine. Concentrate. If those two are listed in connection that place, it can't mean many things."
"So it's a graveyard?" Stiles said quietly.
"Or something like it. A place to keep the dead. Jackson…and Peter, they both died two years ago. And that's when that name was put on their files. That's what Oak Creek is, that's all it can be," she said, voice only shaking a little. Stiles envied her the ability to keep so business-like. He knew he wouldn't be talking about the death of his ex boyfriend at the hands of rampaging werewolves so casually.
Well. Not that he had any ex-boyfriends. Or exes of any kind, really. Anyway.
Jackson. Focus. Jackson. If Jackson and Peter Hale were on that list, it could only mean one thing.
Peter Hale had been one of the Hales killed in the Hale assault, that much was common knowledge. Jackson Whittemore had been pretty much in the same boat as Scott that night two years ago, but had been the less lucky one of the two. He hadn't survived the bite, which had killed him mere hours later. Stiles had never particularly liked the guy, in fact had always detested him on principle for being the dude Lydia Martin was dating, but…no one deserved to go like that. And it killed him to see how clearly Lydia still wasn't over it. He hurt for her, he really did.
"So Laura…," he didn't want to be the one to say it. And he didn't want to be the one who would have to tell Derek, either, but he knew it would have to be him. Lydia met his eyes again.
"She is, in all likelihood, dead."
"Well, that-," and before Stiles could express exactly what that was, the door to the janitor's closet was flung open.
"Gotcha! What the hell - Stilinski?" Finstock stood at the door, looking at Stiles and then at Lydia. Lydia rolled her eyes and pushed Stiles away, even though he hadn't been all that close to him to begin with. He stumbled and nearly tripped over a mop.
"Oh please. You think I would? With him?" Lydia said. Finstock looked at Stiles, shrugged.
"Good point."
"Oh come on," Stiles groaned.
"Out, both of you," Finstock ordered. "Whatever you were doing in there, I don't want to know. Back to work. And Stilinski, don't forget about your little errand." Stiles nodded, then he and Lydia marched back to their stations as told. Stiles was frankly startled at the lack of a tirade from Finstock, but thanked his lucky stars and didn't question it.
xx
Once his lunch break rolled around Stiles did as bidden and found Finstock in his office to get a temporary keycard and the boxes he needed to cart to the lower levels. On the keycard was printed a four digit code that would get him downstairs, different from the one he usually used, and by his guess probably a temporary one that wouldn't work after a short time period. Finstock didn't specify how long he had to complete the task, so once Stiles was downstairs and had checked in the stack of boxes with a technician who disappeared shortly thereafter, he figured it was a good a time as any to go see Scott and tell him what he'd learned.
Ten minutes later Stiles was inside the walls, plodding along down the path that would lead him to his friend.
xx
The recreation hall was deserted when he got there, so Stiles tried Scott's house next. Stiles had been there once or twice before, but the place was small and the two of them didn't usually hang out there when Stiles visited. It was a squat, square concrete building with one tiny window and an ugly metal door. The place was hardly big enough for a single occupant, but Scott told him it wasn't an uncomfortable arrangement. Scott's was the fifth in a row of twenty or so similar buildings, and a sidewalk ran along the row and branched off to connect to each door. Another few rows of the same setup continued behind Scott's house, which was on the very first row. These housing units sat directly across the wide clearing from the rec hall.
When he reached Scott's door he knocked and a few moments later it opened. Scott greeted him with a sunny smile.
"Hey," Stiles greeted in return in a decidedly less sunny manner. "We need to talk."
"Alright. Just let me grab some shoes," Scott said, turning back inside and returning a moment later with some sneakers on. He had on a pair of dark grey sweatpants and simple black t-shirt. The clothing options weren't all that diverse for the sanctuary inhabitants, and tended towards military-esque garb. Scott shut his door behind them, and the pair ambled up the sidewalk away from his house. They talked as they walked. Stiles told him everything he had found out from research and from Lydia.
"Oh, shit," was all Scott could say. Then a strange look came over his face.
"What is it?"
"Well…I asked Derek if he knew the name, when you first told me it," Scott said.
"Did he know the place? What'd he say?"
"Nothing," Scott said. "He wouldn't talk to me, he got this weird look on his face like he knew the place and it was something bad, but he wouldn't say anything. Just told me to shut up about it and go away."
"Real people person, ain't he?"
"He's not so bad," Scott said. Stiles frowned at this new revelation. Not at that Derek wasn't so bad, but that Derek knew enough about this Oak Creek place to be upset hearing the name.
"Then he knows what Oak Creek is. And he knows it can't be anything good."
"But what is it? You really think it's some kind of crematorium?" Scott asked.
"Only one way to find out," Stiles said, strongly regretting what he was about to do.
xx
Scott was a little apprehensive about taking Stiles to talk to Derek, more than a little, he flat out refused initially. ("No way man, I don't even know if he likes humans. He might eat you!" was Scott's argument, despite the fact that Stiles had survived his last encounter unscathed.) But Stiles had logic and persistence on his side and Scott caved eventually. Scott led him deeper into the woods, down a path that saw little use and up to a large abandoned-looking concrete house. It was two stories, much larger than the cubicle that Scott called home, and Stiles knew the sanctuary was peppered with a few of these things. Why Derek felt he needed all the extra space and lived alone up here, Stiles couldn't guess. Scott told Stiles to wait at the base of the porch steps while he went up to knock on the door.
"You sure he's here?" Stiles called.
"Yeah, I can smell him," Scott called back. Right as he said it, the door swung open inward.
"That was a little rude," Derek said. Scott jumped back, away from the door. Derek looked at Scott, then glared at Stiles. "What do you two want?"
"We, uh-," Scott began, but Stiles didn't wait for him to stammer out their story. Stiles marched up the steps despite Scott's frantic motioning for him to stay back. He stopped just a few feet from Derek, not bothering to be intimidated by the werewolf. If Derek hated humans enough to disembowel Stiles on sight, he would've done so before.
"We want to know what you know about Oak Creek. I had some help looking into it, and we found more names. It mentioned a few other people we knew for a fact were dead, along with your sister," Stiles said. Derek looked momentarily taken aback, then his face settled into the near permanent scowl he always seemed to wear.
"Dead? Who else was there?" Derek asked.
"A kid named Jackson, he was our age and he got caught up in the assault like Scott, but he didn't survive being bitten," Stiles said, then he debated how much he wanted to say. He figured he might as well tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Derek deserved that much. "And Peter Hale."
"That's…not possible," Derek said frankly, turning away from them. His stony expression didn't give much else away.
"So," Stiles pressed tentatively, "What is it? Is it like a burial place or something?"
"What, no, it's-," Derek looked up. Then, before he continued he looked at Scott. His glare resurfaced. "I thought I told you to forget about this."
"Well, yeah but-," Scott started again, but Stiles interjected.
"Why would we do that? Just when we were getting somewhere?" Derek turned to him.
"This isn't some Scooby-Doo mystery, Stiles. Let it go," Derek commanded.
"Fine, if you think that's what this is, I'll keep up with Scooby-doo puns, as painful and corny as they are, and demand to know why. Or are you really old man Jenkins behind that scary sourwolf mask? Trying to scare us meddlin' kids off some dark secret?" Derek looked frankly confounded trying to keep up with Stiles' tirade, and then the scowl settled back in place.
"I don't need to explain why. Just do it, forget about Oak Creek. It doesn't concern you," Derek said. Stiles knew the comment was probably directed at the pair of them, but he couldn't help feel like Derek had singled him out. Stiles met his eyes, glared right back.
"And why the hell not?" he demanded. Derek's expression was darkening. Not with rage, but with frustration.
"Because-," he started, sounding dangerously high-schoolish. "Why do you even care so much? What does any of this matter to you?" he deflected the question.
"Because I'm trying to help, Derek. And I'm the only one in any kind of position to help you figure this out. I'm doing this because I want to so get over it and tell us what you know," Stiles said.
Ok so maybe standing up to the big scary werewolf wasn't the smartest of moves, but after a tense moment Derek's glare lessened to a degree and he didn't look about ready to shift and tear Stiles' throat out for pushing him. He seemed to be deliberating, and looked between Scott and Stiles. Then he backed up into the house and held the door open.
"In," he ordered. "I'll tell you what I know." Scott and Stiles did as told, and Derek shut the door behind them. Stiles walked in ahead of Scott, down the narrow hall. The place was well lit, if totally devoid of furniture. They passed a dining room empty of a table or chairs, a stair case that led to a second floor and a kitchen that looked like it hadn't seen use in years. Was Derek really living there? Why? At the end of the hall was an archway leading to the room Derek was directing them to. A living room, of sorts. It had a run down-looking sofa and two wood chairs, which was more furniture than anywhere else in the house so far. The boys took the sofa and Derek sat down in one of the chair across from them. The sofa was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. Imagine solid wood with a yard of fabric over it and you'll get the idea.
"Lay it on us," Stiles said. Derek gave him a look that Stiles was coming to realize he reserved just for Stiles. He hadn't yet seen Derek glare at Scott quite like that. Derek sighed and started.
"Oak Creek isn't a burial ground, not to my knowledge. All I know is that there was a sanctuary back in the sixties called Oak Creek. It wasn't too far from here, it was one of the first built actually," he said. Stiles leaned forward on the couch.
"A sanctuary? Was a sanctuary? What happened to it?" he asked.
"I'm getting to that. Shut up," Derek growled.
"Okay, okay. I'll stay quiet," Stiles promised, knowing full well he probably wouldn't. Derek continued.
"It was closed down after a certain…incident three years after being built. It was demolished shortly after, scrapped completely. To my knowledge there's nothing left there so none of this makes any sense. Laura can't be there, nor can Peter or your other friend." Stiles looked at Scott, who looked back at Stiles with a mirrored look of confusion.
"There's more to the story than that, isn't there?" Scott asked. Derek didn't look up from where he was staring at the floor.
"Derek," Stiles said softly. "What happened there?" There was a pause, then Derek stood and crossed his arms over his chest.
"There weren't many sanctuaries around in the early days, but there were a lot more of us. They didn't have enough room to house us after the sanctuaries were implemented, so werewolves were crammed into sanctuaries far exceeding capacity all over the country. Oak Creek was no bigger than Beacon Hills, but there were over two hundred wolves living there by the time it closed. There was no space for any of them, conditions were terrible and their meager resources were siphoned off by corrupt facility managers looking to pad their pockets at the expense of the inhabitants. The second a round of pneumonia hit, inhabitants dropped like flies and no one gave a damn. Rioting started. So many angry wolves stormed the gates and were gunned down mercilessly. Silver, wolfsbane, they didn't stand a chance. Nearly all of them were killed, only a handful were left and transferred elsewhere," he said, and there was a beat of stunned silence before Stiles could think of anything to say to that.
"Holy shit-," he breathed. "But wait - how did anyone cover that up? That would've been all over the news, a fucking massacre - shit, that's so fucking horrible-," he couldn't form a coherent thought beyond that. He was infuriated, it was all wrong. He didn't want to believe people could be capable of that, but a burning, angry gut feeling told him it was true. Derek let out a hollow laugh.
"The government is good at hiding things when it wants to. It helps that anyone who would want the truth told was either dead or locked away in a sanctuary for life. That's how I know about it, there was an older wolf in here when I was a kid who was there when it happened," he said. Stiles wanted to punch something, to scream at someone, to hurt something… but none of that would change what happened nearly fifty years ago. It didn't horrify him any less, though. Scott sat silent on the couch beside Stiles, but the way his fist was curled tight told Stiles he wasn't taking the story much better. Focus. There were more important things to be thinking about than just how much Stiles hated people. It was hard, but he took a deep breath and got his mind back on the problem at hand.
"So Laura isn't there, that's not possible," Stiles confirmed. Derek turned back around, arms dropping to his side. He sat back down, leaning against the back of the chair.
"No. But you're welcome to go check out the acres of woods where it used to be. It's just a few miles out of town; there are still a couple broken foundations where the buildings used to be. You can't miss it." Derek was being sardonic, but Stiles didn't think that was a bad idea. Besides, he was curious. He'd seen the crumbled buildings off the interstate before, he'd always wondered what they were.
"I might do that, actually. It can't hurt," he said, then lapsed into thoughtful silence.
"Look," Derek said, catching his attention. "I appreciate all you've done so far, but it's a dead end. Laura isn't at Oak Creek. No one is, if Peter's listed there too and your dead friend, then it's probably a cover up. In all likelihood, Laura's dead. They're just covering their tracks. Like goddamn always."
"Hey now, don't say that. She could still be out there somewhere," Stiles offered, but he knew there was no comfort in those words. Derek certainly didn't look comforted.
"In any case, that's why I said drop it. Anything short of going up to the Argents themselves and asking nicely what they did with my sister, there's nothing for it. Whoever took my sister probably won't take kindly to a teenager poking around. So drop it," Derek said, all gruff again like talking about how his sister might have been unjustly murdered didn't faze him. Just an average day in the life of Derek Hale. Stiles really couldn't blame him for acting like it.
"Then… you're just giving up?" Scott asked, finally rejoining the conversation.
"What else can I do?" Derek replied. "Even if I knew what happened to Laura, it wouldn't make much of a difference to anything besides my own personal feelings. I can't help her from here if she needs me, I can mourn her in my own way if she's dead but…I'm not willing to ask someone else to risk themselves like that. Just to know for sure, it's not worth it," Derek said, looking pointedly at Stiles.
So, that's what his hesitation was about. Stiles honestly felt a little touched at his concern.
"Well, that sounds like a personal problem," Stiles said, standing up and looking down at Derek. "Just because you're not willing to ask me to risk my neck to help you, doesn't mean I don't want to. Or that I'm not going to. Because I'm totally going to."
"Stiles - what are you planning?" Scott asked cautiously. He knew that tone, that was the 'I'm about to do something stupid' tone. It was never a good tone.
"No idea," Stiles said confidently. "But whatever it is it will be an awesome plan, I guarantee it."
"Why?" was the only thing Derek could say. Stiles locked eyes with his.
"Why not?"
xx
Once Stiles was gone, back in the facility and spending the rest of his work day ushering tourists around with mundane facts and figures and blah blah who cares information, in the back of his mind he was turning their little puzzle over and over again. Derek had been right, Oak Creek was a dead end clue, but not one Stiles wouldn't see through to the end regardless. It couldn't hurt checking out the old site, anyway.
So, as the day wore on Stiles considered things. And Stiles planned.