a/n: I'm awful, I'm late, I'm incredibly busy with school I'm sorry. music is Ow, by Stephen Moccio. I'll get the next two chapters up as fast as I can.
In the end, they returned to Stiles' house. Stiles didn't trust himself behind the wheel much longer than that, and neither Lydia nor Allison felt up to parting ways just yet. Stiles' father wasn't home yet, he was still on duty at the sanctuary. When Stiles walked into the empty house he thought it for the best, he wasn't sure how to face his dad just yet. He knew he'd look a wreck, and he was still working on composing himself so that when asked what was wrong he wouldn't burst into hysterics.
Stiles led the way to his bedroom in silence, the two behind him followed in much the same fashion. He couldn't even find it in him to recognize that this was the first time in his eighteen years that Lydia Martin was in his bedroom. He dimly recognized the knee-jerk reaction, but he felt numb to the novelty. His fifteen year old self would probably hate him for not being more excited about the moment he'd dreamed of since grade school, but there were more pressing matters at hand.
The three of them gathered around his cramped, messy room and Stiles took a seat at his computer desk. Lydia sat on the bed, Allison stood studying his investigation wall attentively.
"We need to talk about this," Lydia began in a small voice, breaking the radio silence. Stiles had his back to her, he stared out the window over his desk. He drummed his finger on the desk surface, acting like he hadn't heard her.
"Stiles-,"
"Give me a minute," he said, a touch more harshly than he meant it. He was still having trouble making his hands stop jittering. He let out a sharp breath. He swivelled in his chair to face the two girls in his room.
"We need to figure out who we're going to with this," Allison said. She crossed her arms, she was still pacing in front of his investigation wall. Just that morning Stiles had been sitting in front of it, staring up at it trying to puzzle all the pieces together like it was some kind of logic problem that would fall into place if he solved all the clues. God. He ran his fingers through his short hair.
All of a sudden he felt tired, extremely tired.
"Who can we trust?" he said. "Well, start with who we can't trust, work from there," he amended.
"My grandfather, Gerard. He's secretive, he's manipulative. His key got us down there, my gut says he's involved," Allison said, not looking a bit guilty to be saying that about her own family member. Stiles wasn't close with his grandparents, but he had an idea that grandfathers ought to be old doddering white-bearded men with crinkly smiles and smelly sweaters. Not involved in homicidal cover-ups, but Allison looked convinced. She took a pen from his desk and a spare piece of notebook paper. She wrote her grandfather's name, then her aunt's and tacked the sheet up on the wall.
"If Gerard's in on it I'm willing to bet Kate is too," Allison explained. "Whatever Gerard is involved in Kate's usually two steps behind."
"Alright, that's two. Sure your dad shouldn't go up there too?" Stiles asked. Allison looked like resented the suggestion. She shook her head.
"No, my dad's a good man. He goes by the code, always," she insisted.
"I still don't think we ought to go to him just yet, it's too iffy, sorry Allison," Stiles said.
"I agree, sorry," Lydia backed him up. Allison pursed her lips, but she was outvoted. She put his name on the list too, but off to the side away from Kate and Gerard.
"Anyone at management-level at the sanctuary. The budget approval for the facility over there had to come from someone high up, so Harris is out definitely. And whoever is in direct charge of the sanctuary's hunters – they're out too," Stiles mused. Allison added the names to the list.
"Those are the only people I can think of," Lydia said after a moment where they all paused to brainstorm. "I don't know who any of those workers were we found. I couldn't tell you if they looked familiar, if they were technicians from Beacon Hills or not." For obvious reasons, she tactfully left out.
"They could've been contracted workers, they might have been brought in from outside, I don't think we'll ever know," Stiles agreed. They let that conversation tangent drop there and Stiles grabbed a new sheet.
"Alright, so people we know we can trust," he said, standing and tacking that up on his wall too. He grabbed another pen, wrote his father's name. Then, after a beat, he added Melissa McCall underneath.
"Scott's mom?" Lydia asked.
"Yeah. There's no way in hell either my dad or her are involved. Outside of them, though, I got nothing," he said, then looked to the other two. Allison shrugged.
"I don't know any other people at the sanctuary."
"There's Danny, I guess?" Lydia said.
"Yeah, but I'm not sure if I want to drag him into this," Stiles replied. Lydia shrugged.
"Fair point. Not sure what he could do to help us anyway. I'd say Finstock possibly… but same case."
"No, we're not going to Finstock with this. I'm thinking someone with a little more authority," Stiles shot that idea down.
"The police?" Allison suggested. Stiles nodded.
"Yes. But not yet," he said.
"Not yet? What are we waiting for?" Lydia asked. "We've got the files, we've got pictures, I'd say that's enough to at least get someone over there to check things out," she argued.
"I know, but just…not yet," Stiles insisted, turning from her. He was thinking and his thoughts invariably turned to Scott and then to Derek. They had to know, some powerful instinct in him made him want to drop everything and run to the sanctuary, to Derek, and unload all the awful he'd witnessed. Something in him made him think Derek could make it all better, could deal with this so much better than Stiles could.
"Then when do we go to them?" Allison pressed. Both girls were looking at him now.
"After I've told Scott and Derek," Stiles said finally. Thinking it over he decided there wasn't much point in keeping it from them any longer. They were involved now, so he figured what the hell.
They both looked confused.
"Stiles, what do you mean? Derek? Derek Hale? Or Scott - what does this have to do with either of them?" Lydia asked. Stiles pressed his eyes closed, hoping this wasn't a horrible idea.
"It has everything to do with them. Derek is the only reason I started looking into this. I've been talking to both of them, Derek is the one who told me about Oak Creek," he said.
"How?" Allison asked, apprehension clear in her voice. She was beginning to catch on. Before Stiles could explain himself, Lydia spoke up from the bed.
"All those times you disappeared at work. You were going into the sanctuary, weren't you?" she guessed it. Stiles nodded.
"Yeah." Beside him, he heard Allison's sharp intake of breath.
"Stiles-," she began, but he cut her off.
"I know, it's extremely illegal, it's dangerous, believe me, I know."
"That's not what I was going to say," she said. He turned to look at her, and she fixed him with a look of dead determination.
"I want you to take me in there. I want to see Scott."
xx
He didn't give her an answer, at least not right away. He told her he'd think about it, definitely. Maybe. Probably, but honest to God he just couldn't think any more that night so he drove both girls home and then returned, sitting in his idling jeep just a few minutes before turning the vehicle off and climbing out of it. It was well dark by then, the night was muggy in a way that meant rain was coming. Looking up Stiles couldn't see any stars through thick clouds, and he frowned up at them. He stood out on his driveway only a moment more before returning inside.
He methodically made himself Ramen noodles for dinner, taking time to carefully pour the water and stick it in the microwave, then he watched the digital numbers tick down. Normally waiting for anything to heat up drove him nuts – a minute, thirty seconds, too long for him to wait. He'd go off and do other things, forget about his food in the microwave and return an hour later to find it cold and mushy, then throw it out and repeat the process with something else. But Stiles stood watching the numbers slowly count down, mind blank, hands still on the counter's cold surface. His eyes stung, his neck ached. He felt so damn tired.
His father came in almost exactly when the timer went off. Stiles startled, turning sharply when he heard his father in the entryway. Like a deer caught in headlights his eyes went wide. His father had called out something as he entered, some kind of greeting Stiles hadn't heard clearly, but when he turned into the kitchen he stopped mid-sentence.
"Stiles?" his father asked, cautiously regarding him. Stiles blinked.
"Uh, dad?" Stiles returned stiffly. His father was looking at him oddly, reading the tension in his son.
"Why…why do you look like you've just seen a ghost? God, kid, you're white as a sheet," his father said, walking into the kitchen. His face was etched with concern, and Stiles internally flailed for a moment, trying to fix his features into some kind of reassuring expression. He swallowed thickly.
"Scary movie," was his lame response. "I was watching one before you came in, I had to change the channel, turn off the TV, something. You just scared the shit outta me, is all," Stiles tried to blow it off. To distract himself he opened the microwave, pulling his dinner out and fixing it up with the little packet of seasoning. The boiled noodles turned brown and Stiles found a fork. They didn't have chop sticks and Stiles didn't have the patience to eat Ramen with a spoon. When he turned back to his father he had a mouthful of dangling noodles, and the ill manners helped the picture that Stiles was a-ok, his normal weird teenager self. His dad only looked half reassured, but accepted it.
"Told you so. You've got all the lights off too, of course you're gonna give yourself a heart attack," his dad said. With a laugh Stiles agreed, then moved out of the kitchen with his meal.
"Hey," his dad called after him. Stiles turned. "What'd you get up to today? Besides the late night monster movie?" Stiles shrugged in a hopefully nonchalant manner.
"Oh, nothing much. You know me, no life." His dad gave him a look.
"So none of those chores I asked you to do got done?" Stiles nearly choked on his noodle.
"Oh, shit Dad – no, sorry, I forgot," he felt bad. He had plenty of time that morning to get things done, but hadn't. His mind had been on other things. Now he really felt like shit – his dad was overworked as it was and he only asked Stiles to do the bare minimum around the house, and, just shit-
Stiles' composure, barely hanging on by a thread as it was, began to slip. His dad must have caught it, he interrupted Stiles' train of thought.
"Whoa, hey, kid it's fine – no big deal. You'll take care of it later, alright?" his dad said. Stiles wasn't someone to need comforting all that often. His dad looked concerned, his reassurances were stiff and a little awkward from disuse. Stiles shook his head, reminded himself he was trying not to make his dad worry.
"Right, no, sorry, just…long day. Okay, yeah I forgot. I'll take care of them tomorrow, sorry," Stiles said.
"You sure everything's alright?" his dad pressed. Stiles made himself smile.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," he insisted. His dad lingered at the kitchen door a moment longer, watching his son.
"Okay," he finally said, accepting Stiles' word for it. And that was that.
xx
Sleep wasn't happening that night. Stiles tried, for the better part of an hour, but after that he gave up. Every time he shut his eyes images would rise, unbidden but there, like they were scorched in his corneas. The silence in his room was deafening, and he welcomed the storm that broke around midnight because it brought thunder and lightning and somehow those things were comforting to him. The steady fall of rain beat against his roof and window, filling the spaces between the booms of thunder. He could focus on the noise, the irregular flashes of light, and that made it easier to stop thinking.
It never lulled him to sleep. He lay on his bed, staring up at his ceiling, counting the rolls of thunder.
xx
He had to work in the morning, so, when his alarm clock woke him up he pulled himself out of the bed, stuffed himself into some clothes and went downstairs for stale Pop-Tarts to be eaten on the way there. His dad had already left sometime much earlier than him, Stiles had heard him go some hours before. Sometimes they called his dad in early, it happened. Some issue or another they needed the head of security to look over. As he crossed town Stiles idly wondered what that morning's dilemma was.
As he merged onto the highway, Stiles' phone beeped in his pocket, and he got his answer.
"Stiles? Where are you, are you on your way here yet?" his father asked when Stiles pressed the phone to his ear.
"Yeah dad, I just hit the highway-,"
"Go home, don't come in. Turn around and head back to the house right now," his father ordered. The half-eaten Pop-Tart dropped from Stiles' mouth, he took a firmer grip on the wheel and sat up a little straighter.
"Dad, what's going on? Why do you sound like that, what happened?" He heard his father sigh deep, frustrated.
"I – I don't know any details yet. Just go home, I'll let you know when I get home," his father said. Like hell was Stiles waiting until then.
"Well what about work?"
"The sanctuary's closed. Indefinitely. We're trying to reach as many people as we can, so call your friends up if you have their numbers and let them know not to come in, okay?"
"Dad what is going on?" Stiles pressed.
"I'll see you tonight," was all his father responded with, and then he ended the call. Stiles cussed colorfully, throwing the phone on the passenger's seat. He checked behind him, then merged into the fast lane and put his foot down on the gas.
xx
Stiles pulled into the parking lot of the sanctuary not ten minutes later. It wasn't a large lot, nor was it even paved. It was a great big dirt clearing in the trees with logs as space markers in keeping with the general nature feel the sanctuary welcoming center was supposed to give off. That the buildings were tall, industrial and made of white mountain ash-concrete clashed magnificently with that scheme. Then there was the walls, every bit as flat white and starkly out of place surrounded by forest, disappearing on either sides of the large building into the trees. Owing to the fact that the ground floor of the sanctuary was taken up by the sanctuary's medical facilities, the front door on this side was up a flight of concrete steps up to the second floor. They had a handicapped ramp on the other side for guests who didn't like making the climb.
The parking lot in front of the building was big enough to hold maybe fifty cars at max capacity, and employees had a row by the entrance to their own. When Stiles pulled up, his spot had been taken over by an overabundance of police cruisers. Red and blue lights flashed, police tape cordoned off the steps up to the entrance of the building. A loose semicircle gathered around the line, police officers, sanctuary security, and a few employees that hadn't gotten the call early enough. Spectators, gawking.
Stiles parked his jeep haphazardly, threw the door shut and moved into the crowd to see what the commotion was all about. The hair on the back of his neck was pinpricked, he pushed past a few onlookers and saw what they were all looking at.
There was blood on the front steps of the sanctuary. Just a small patch, one spot near the bottom. A chalk outline was drawn somewhat awkwardly to accommodate the steps, and there were notations of the blood splatter set up around stray bits. Before he could piece together what he was looking at, Stiles felt a firm grip on his shoulder.
"What did I tell you?" his father spun him around, angry. Stiles rolled his eyes.
"Like I was just going to go home," he said. Stiles knew his father didn't seriously expect him to do what he was told. He looked angry, but not the least bit surprised.
"Would it kill you to do what I ask? Just one time? Once, really, that's all I ask Stiles," his dad said, exasperated. He put a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.
"So what happened?" Stiles deflected. His dad sighed a long, deep sigh.
"We found an employee this morning dead on the steps. She was mauled, looks like some kind of animal attack," his dad said, casting a glance back towards the sanctuary steps. Stiles sensed a but in there.
"But?"
"But, well, look where we are," he said, gesturing to the sanctuary building.
"Right. Got it," Stiles nodded.
"We're going to get an autopsy and experts down to identify what killed her, but, this is going to look very, very bad." Yes, it was. Accident or not, wild animal or not, once it got out a woman was killed by a wild animal on the steps of a werewolf sanctuary, assumptions were going to be made. An idea formed in the back of Stiles' mind, one he didn't like even in the slightest. One that made him go very, very cold.
"Dad," he began, "Do you really think it was? A werewolf, I mean," he asked. His dad gave him a funny look, like there was something he didn't know how to say.
"Honestly…it could be. I don't want to believe it is, but it looks like one. It's no one from ours, they called me in here this morning to double check. As soon as we found her we sent men out into the sanctuary to count everyone up. No one's missing, all of our werewolves are accounted for. But an outsider? Someone on the loose, maybe. It's not unlikely at this point," he said. Something inside Stiles relaxed just a tiny bit.
"So what happens now?"
"It's up to the police now. Sanctuary security has been cooperating with them all morning, but it's been decided it's out of our hands now, now that they know it wasn't an escapee. Like I said, they'll do an autopsy to confirm but I've already heard them calling in backup hunters," his dad said. There was somewhere suddenly Stiles felt he very urgently had to be.
"Ok. Alright, well, then I'm gonna head home," Stiles said.
"Good, yeah, I'll be home later tonight. At some point, but, don't wait up for me if it gets too late, okay?"
"Alright dad," Stiles agreed, then went back to his jeep and started it up. Then he drove to Lydia's house.
xx
It took some time getting there, Lydia lived on the far side of town. He flipped through radio stations on the way there, most were playing top forties as usual but some news stations were starting to report on the story. It seemed a little premature, but news travelled fast, especially news about the sanctuary. Stiles listened intently when he found a station running a story.
Urgent news update on the situation at Beacon Hills Sanctuary – an employee, whose name has not yet been released, was found dead on the grounds this morning. Preliminary investigations we are told implicates some kind of animal attack, but speculation is running wild about the possibility of a werewolf attack, though again, press were assured no inhabitants of Beacon Hills Sanctuary have been reported missing. We are assured that all werewolves in their jurisdiction have been accounted for. The incident has thus fallen under control of local police, who are working in conjunction with sanctuary security. Now – it has been less than a month since the recapture of infamous Beacon Hills inhabitant Derek Hale. Speculators at this point have been questioning whether or not Hale made another escape attempt that ended in the reported death, but any conjectures at this point remain merely speculation. Hale has not yet been named in connection with the case-
At that point Stiles changed stations. People sure did get suspicious real quick. Use Derek's name reporting on the incident and no shit people were going to start speculating their little hearts away.
"Dammit," Stiles hissed, hands tight on the wheel. He drove faster.
Lydia was holed up in her room when he arrived. Her mother answered the door, but Stiles heard Lydia's voice coming from upstairs telling her mother to let him up. Stiles was allowed in, and after exchanging pleasantries he went up to find Lydia. Her room was spacious, decorated with sophisticated taste, and currently buried under a mountain of papers. It looked like Stiles' whenever he got seriously involved in homework.
"Just come in, you can move some of that off the bed and sit," Lydia said and Stiles did as told. Lydia was at her desk turned towards her laptop and engrossed in whatever she was reading there.
"What is all this?" Stiles asked, picking up a few sheets. Nothing but numbers and colored graphs he had no idea how to decipher.
"It's everything I got from the lab, I've been going through it since last night. Stiles, this – what they were doing, I don't know for sure but I think I'm beginning to see it," she said, and finally turned to face him. Her hair was in a loose, messy bun pinned back with a pencil. She wore a t-shirt and sweatpants, and for the life of him Stiles couldn't help but appreciate this was probably the first time in his life he'd seen Lydia look haggard. She looked as exhausted as Stiles felt.
"Couldn't sleep?" Stiles guessed. Lydia shrugged.
"Don't tell me you could either," she said.
"No, not a wink," he agreed. "So, what were they up to?" Lydia turned back to her desk, pulling a stack of papers toward her. She leafed through them, picking out a few and studying it.
"You know how only born werewolves can bite and turn people?" she asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"It looks like they were isolating the mutating agent produced by bitten werewolves that infect humans on contact. For lack of a better term, we call it venom. Bitten werewolves don't produce it, they don't develop the glans in the mouth post transformation. No one is sure why, but I'd bet is some kind of species control mechanism – I'm getting off topic, that's not important," she stopped herself.
"No, but I always wondered about that," Stiles said.
"Anyway, they were experimenting on it. Mutating venom, testing different strains from multiple sources to try and synthesize something that could immunize against it," she explained.
"A cure for lycanthropy?" They certainly wouldn't have been the first people to try. That kind of research wouldn't require a secret base and a lot of dead scientists. Venom could be and was extracted fairly regularly and easily – heck Stiles knew they sometimes did it during monthly checkups. It was once a theory born werewolves could be prevented from biting and turning other people if all their venom was extracted or the glands that produced it destroyed somehow, but nothing had ever been effective in doing that outside of cutting them out of their mouths. That proved to be too inhumane a process to be approved nationwide.
"No, not exactly," Lydia said, bringing him back to the topic at hand. "Well, yes that's part of what they were doing but that's not it. Somehow they were able to get ahold of tissue samples that were able to resist the effects of the venom. Someone who was naturally immune. They were testing their mutated venom against the immunity. I don't know why, but that was a large part of what was going on down there. The only other thing I can glean from this is they were trying to trigger the alpha mutation in different subjects artificially," she finished.
"The alpha mutation?" Stiles echoed.
"Right. Alpha werewolves – it's not just a pack title, that we know. In born werewolves sometimes the alpha instinct is triggered and they undergo a physical change. We've never known why or how the change is affected, looks like they were trying to find that out."
"Did they do it?" Lydia shook her head.
"I don't think so. I think they were close, but that's where the reports stop," she said. He almost didn't want to ask, but he knew he had to.
"Did you find out what they were doing to Jackson down there?" Lydia again shook her head.
"No. There aren't any names on these reports, just identification by numbers. I don't know what was tested on who," she said.
"Alright then," Stiles said, then because he felt a change of subject would do her good, he told her about the incident at the sanctuary that morning.
"I hadn't heard, I called in for the day off this morning but I got the automated system. Jesus…," she looked away.
"The…the two figures we saw down there. The ones that got out, I can't say for sure it was them, but what if it was?" Stiles finally put in words what he'd been fearing. Lydia was quiet.
"They'd have a grudge against the sanctuary, that's for sure. I guess the only question who? Who are they? And what are they going to do now?"
Neither had an answer to that.
xx
The sanctuary would be reopening the next day. Stiles' father told him so over the phone later that night. After he'd left Lydia's house Stiles had gone straight home to sit on the couch and watch the blank television screen as he tried to piece together his scattered thoughts. Hours later, after dark and when it was far later than Stiles' father usually returned home, he called to update Stiles on the situation. The body had been removed, the scene processed and cleared. The autopsy had yet to take place, but it had been decided there was nothing keeping the sanctuary from opening the next day.
"Gerard Argent's been up my ass all day, he's against reopening but he's in the minority," his dad said over the phone. Stiles could hear how tired he sounded in the receiver.
"Why?"
"Who knows. They want time with the scene, or they want to go in the sanctuary tomorrow and question all the inhabitants. Which is ridiculous, none of them left we know that. Argent's been demanding security footage but he doesn't have the authority to get those. Not yet anyway. Harris isn't happy, but he's never happy when he has to close. It's Harris' word on whether or not we open tomorrow, and he's made his decision," he said.
"Any idea when they'll let you go?"
"Not yet, but we're almost done here. Just have a few things to wrap up then I'll head home. Get to bed, it's late," he told Stiles, who made a non-committal noise and hung up. He let the phone fall to his side, then yawned and peeled himself up from the couch. He went to his room, sat down on the bed. He wasn't sure if sleep was going to happen or not, but he figured he might as well try. Sliding under the covers he closed his eyes, willing the images away.
They wouldn't leave him completely, but, giving out to exhaustion, Stiles drifted to sleep.
xx
Work the next day was tense. There was an unspoken air of apprehension laying thick over them as they went about their jobs, no one spoke or chatted much and any interaction with the few customers that came was muted and terse. To Stiles' surprise Finstock put him in the café on the observation deck, ringing up cheap salads and wrapped sandwiches for the day. They were spread thin, his boss had explained. Hardly anyone had actually turned up for work, most were too scared to come in. Stiles took the job with minimal complaining. It wasn't tour guides and even Finstock seemed affected by the tense atmosphere and was significantly less overbearing.
Stiles had kept in mind what Allison had asked of him in the jeep after leaving Oak Creek. She wanted in to see Scott, and while he hadn't yet agreed to do it he felt it unfair to deny her now. But things were different now, Stiles knew he had to be more careful this time. There were more security around the facility than usual, and they had their beady eyes on everyone. Stiles had no idea what it was like downstairs, and there was only one way to find out. When his lunch break rolled around, he threw caution to the wind and took the elevator down to the lower floor.
It was busier than he expected down below. Guards were everywhere, stationed at nearly every corner. Stiles was spotted almost immediately by the desk lady who most definitely was not on break like she should be.
"You, kid, what are you doing down here? How did you get down here?" she demanded, making a beeline for him. Stiles scrambled for an excuse, something, but his brain still isn't up to one hundred percent capacity. His bullshitting circuits must have been malfunctioning or on the fritz, because the sight of the lumbering service desk lady made his plan go out the window. Luckily, he was saved in the nick of time by Melissa McCall, who descends like the angel she is to his rescue.
"Whoa, hey Gertie, this kid's with me. He's got my pass, it's okay," she staved off the woman, heading her off before she reached Stiles. Desk lady did not look pleased, but Melissa McCall was a full technician and her word meant something. Desk lady retreated to her desk, and Melissa pulled Stiles along to a private cubbyhole of an office.
"Stiles, we talked about this, didn't we?" she said once the door was closed. The space is small, just a desk and a chair and a metal filing cabinet where a few magnets clung to. One of them was a picture of herself and Scott, magnetized into place by two round blue ones at opposite corners.
"I was worried," Stiles said. "Worried about you – it was a technician that got attacked, I heard. I just…I was worried," Stiles repeated. He was, actually. Really worried. He'd never say it out loud for fear of embarrassing the hell out of himself, but Melissa McCall was something like a maternal figure for him. She saw the genuine worry etched on his face, and Stiles knew she wouldn't stay mad at him.
"They still aren't sure what did it, but right know they're assuring everyone it was animal attack," she said without much conviction.
"Right. Animal attack," Stiles mirrored her lack of belief in the cover story.
"But Stiles-," she said, and caught his gaze. She smiled when she had it. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, alright? I'll be okay – it's going to be alright, they'll figure it out," she said. Stiles tried to believe her, but his head is a jumbled mess of thoughts.
"Okay," he said anyway, nodding. She opened the office door for him.
"Don't let me catch you down here again. I have no idea how many times I can cover for you, that woman is relentless on watch," Melissa said. Stiles agreed. She walked him back to the elevators, saw him up. As he rose to the second floor, Stiles pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Allison.
Meet me in the sanctuary lobby, tonight, closing time.
After he stepped out of the elevator, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Okay the reply text reads.
xx
Stiles knew it was a crazy plan, he knew it was dumb and stupid and not well thought-out and he was probably going to get both of them thrown out on their asses or worse, but Stiles was about at the end of his nerves and Stiles had to see Derek, that night, or else he'd really go nuts. It was an awful feeling, the unravelling of his sanity. But seeing Derek again, he was convinced it would make it all better. To just be able to unload everything on Derek and have Derek deal with it.
It hit him, as he was waiting for Allison in the lobby, everyone else checking out and going home, how much he had missed Derek. How much he ached at the thought of seeing him again. It was like a raw hole in his gut he hadn't even known was there was about to be filled in. That hole, when had it been carved in him? Stiles had no idea, it had grown in the pit of him so gradually he hadn't even been aware.
The strength of what he was feeling, standing there, anticipating seeing Derek again, shocked him. Or, it should have. It did, but at the same time it really didn't. Half of him was surprised to find how much he missed and cared about Derek, the other half was going told you so.
Stiles shouldn't have been left with his thoughts that long. When Allison finally arrived, slipping into the lobby doors as everyone was still leaving and before the night crew had a chance to lock up, she found Stiles staring blankly at a wall with a look of comically intense concentration. She couldn't engage his attention right away, she waved a hand in front of his face and he finally snapped out of it.
"Stiles? Are you alright? You look a little…like shit," she said bluntly. He stared at her a moment.
"Haven't been sleeping. Not well, at least. Have you?"
"No. Not really. So, are we doing this or what?" she ended that line of conversation.
"Yes. Let's go."
xx
Gertie the Desk Lady was still at her station when the elevator dinged open. She glared at Stiles, about to throw a fit, but Stiles beat her to the punch.
"Melissa McCall asked me to bring these down to her office before I left," Stiles said, motioning with his chin to the stack of manila folders in his and Allison's arms.
"What are they?" Desk Lady asked, rightfully suspicious. Stiles shrugged.
"I have no idea, she didn't say and I wasn't about to look." It was the truth, sort of. They'd lifted them out of Finstock's office. Stiles had no idea what was actually in them.
"Well, then hurry. I'm off duty in five minutes and I want you both up before my replacement takes over," she ordered, then waved them off imperiously. Stiles, for once not having to sneak past anyone, went down the hall with immense relief. There was no way he'd be getting past these guys anyway – there was a man at nearly every juncture of the hallway now, but, because the universe must have been smiling down on him for reasons unknown, not down the processing room hallway. He and Allison left the folders in Melissa's office and made their way straight there, walking briskly like they were supposed to be there and knew what they were doing. Stiles guessed they were more concerned with the elevator, the only way to the upper level, and less worried about that end of the facility. Hurrying her along, Stiles ushered Allison into the faulty processing room and set about opening the hatch.
"How did you figure out how to do this?" Allison asked, somewhat in awe.
"Desperation. I had to see Scott," he said, heaving the door open. "No power in the verse was gonna stop me from seeing him." Allison had nothing to say to that.
xx
It was dark, it took them some time winding their way through the woods. As if still afraid of getting caught, both were silent the way there. Allison seemed to be appreciating the atmosphere of the sanctuary, this foreign and strange forbidden place she'd never been inside of before. Stiles had felt like that the first few trips in, but he slowly forgot it and the sanctuary became nothing but a couple miles of woods to him. If he managed to forget about the walls, that is.
There was no one near the recreation hall, it was deserted.
"I had no idea what this place was like inside," Allison said in low whisper. She sounded tense, and Stiles understood why. Her hunter senses must've been on high alert, surrounded by thick forest populated by werewolves. And unarmed, no less. That Stiles had been adamant about, no weapons. Unless she had a knife hidden on her somewhere, Allison seemed to have complied.
"They're not here, but I know where else to look," Stiles said, walking on. Allison lingered for a while, taking in the clearing, the bleak apartments, the feeding hatch in the middle.
"It's like a prison. No, it is a prison. It's awful," she said.
"Let's go," Stiles urged, not replying to that.
xx
Stiles found the path to Derek's house easily enough. His feet remembered it well, though he could count the times he'd been there on one hand. Neither experiences had been particularly enjoyable, but as they approached something started unclenching in Stiles' heart automatically. He found himself picking up the pace, clearing the trees and walking out into the open expanse where the big concrete house sat on the hilltop. The sight of it was oddly comforting, but the figures milling around the front even more so.
"Stiles!" Scott was the first to see them, but the rest, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and – there he was – Derek turned almost in unison to the scent of Stiles and Allison entering the clearing. Scott's gaze slid right past Stiles, however, and locked onto Allison. The others saw her too, some of them immediately suspicious and pulling back at the new, unknown person.
Not Scott. No, there was a moment between when Scott saw Allison and when he started moving towards her. At his side, Stiles heard Allison's sharp intake of breath before she started walking forward too. Walking, then running, then sprinting to where Scott met her in the middle of the open grass in a crushing embrace and a kiss.
It was a desperate moment of intimacy Stiles tactfully looked away from, giving them wide berth as he walked around to join the others by Derek's front porch. Scott and Allison were lost in each other, and as Stiles had guessed, the last two years hadn't quite been enough to squash all, or any affection Allison still had for Scott, no matter how she'd acted. Stiles could hear Scott when he pulled away from kissing her, he was whispering over and over her name, Allison, Allison, Allison.
Stiles came to a stop at Derek's side.
"Sorry to bring her unannounced," he said. Derek looked away from Scott and Allison, still flush against each other they were, eyebrow drawn.
"Friend of his?"
"…You could say that." Derek shrugged.
"If you trust her enough to bring her, and if Scott's that, ah, comfortable, with her being here, I'm okay with it," Derek said. He made a gesture to stand down at Isaac, Erica and Boyd, who looked just as surprised as Derek had seeing their little display.
"And I thought we were bad," Erica said, nudging Boyd.
"So, what did you bring her here for? And where have you been?" Derek asked, voice going serious all of a sudden as he turned on Stiles. Stiles nearly melted under that look, that void coming back up at him to remind him just how much he'd missed this big werewolf man.
"There's…there's a lot I need to talk to you about," Stiles said, and he could feel everything come rushing back up at him. All the horribleness, all the awful, everything that he'd been so eager to tell Derek. Everything he was so desperate to finally say out loud, and the anticipation of confessing was doing odd things to him. A lump was forming in his throat, and Derek could see instantly the change in his mood.
"Alone?" Derek guessed. Stiles nodded. Derek said something to the other three, then started off towards the woods. Stiles followed after him. They walked a ways down a narrow dirt path. Derek stayed silent, waiting for Stiles to start. Stiles had no idea how to. No clue. Where to begin?
Stiles stopped walking. Derek stopped too, turned to face Stiles. Stiles wasn't sure what else to do, he had no idea what he wanted to say but Derek was right in front of him, watching him with those eyes, and Stiles knew finally what he wanted to do.
Stiles walked forward and kissed Derek. He kissed Derek hard, eyes squeezed shut, arms going up around Derek's neck. Derek, sensing somehow Stiles needed a momentary distraction of the kissing persuasion, kissed him back just as hard. Derek's arms went around Stiles' waist, holding him there tight, flush against the comforting warmth that was Derek's chest.
Stiles felt good there, stomach and nerves coming unknotted for the first time in days. Everything was Derek, nothing was awful or horrible or bloody, it was just Derek and Derek felt very nice.
When Derek deepened the kiss with an inquisitive tongue, that felt pretty nice too.
What a terrible inconvenience breathing was, though. Stiles never wanted his lips to leave Derek's ever again, no, he was pretty sure he'd be content if he could spend the rest of his life kissing Derek, but that life would be pretty short lived if he didn't pull back and breathe, so he did, smiling just a little with the loss of contact.
Stiles opened his eyes again. Derek was watching him, face gone all soft with concern.
"What's wrong?" Derek asked without letting go of him. Stiles was incredibly okay with that. But now he needed to answer Derek, he needed to say a lot of unpleasant things. He steadied himself for them with a deep breath.
"Everything," he said first, a little shaky. Derek watched him, waiting.
"How bad?" Derek asked.
"Awful. Horrible. God, so horrible. There were – there were bodies, Derek. Bodies, all over the place. So many bodies, in so many places." It came out breathlessly, Stiles had to squeeze his eyes shut against the images, pressing his forehead to Derek's chest.
"Stiles, what are you talking about-,"
"At Oak Creek. We went, me, Allison and Lydia. We went like I said we would-,"Stiles said, then stopped. No, he'd never actually told Derek he was going over there. He had come to tell him, but hadn't. Other things had happened that night, namely Stiles nearly getting eaten, Derek protecting him, then kissing him that first time, but no, Stiles hadn't actually told him he was going to go.
"You went? Why? Why would you do that?" Derek asked.
"We found evidence. Oak Creek was still running, we, Danny found…stuff," he tried to explain, attempting to get his story straight. "Anyway. Not important. We went and we found things. People. No, before the people – there was a big lab there. Lots of science and shit, computers and experiments going on. We found a bunch of doors with names on them, a lot of your family, Jackson – they weren't dead, they were there, they were there the whole time, those people were doing things to them, Derek. Awful things, terrible things. But they're – those people, they're dead now and we found them." His thoughts were a mess, he could barely get the story out and by that point he was ready to give up and find Allison so she could explain things clearly, but when he tried to pull away Derek pulled him back.
"I get it, I get it, Stiles calm down," Derek told him. Stiles breathed deep, trying to.
"Okay, okay, I'm calm," Stiles tried willing his statement to truth. He pulled back from Derek, who let him go this time. Stiles mourned the loss of contact, but he needed an unclouded minute to breathe. And think. And. Something.
"You went there. They were doing, what, experiments?" Derek clarified.
"Yeah. Lydia's been going through some files we managed to copy. She's still not entirely sure, but whatever they were doing it had something to do with immunity to the bite and mutating werewolf venom," Stiles struggled to reiterate all Lydia had told him. Hey, it was in full sentences. Progress. He felt less jumbled, less jumpy now that Derek was there, Derek was going to help him figure out what to do.
"So my family…Peter, Laura, Cora, my mother…," Derek said. God, Stiles wanted to take back everything he said, he wanted to go back and say they hadn't found anything, or found them alive and happy in some kind of day spa, anything but the truth.
"Derek…I'm so sorry," Stiles whispered. Derek shook his head.
"No, don't be sorry. You didn't do any of this. You…you found out what happened to them. No, don't apologize, I'm grateful for that," Derek said, pulling Stiles back into a tight embrace.
"Derek they were everywhere. Those people. Torn to shreds. On the walls, on the ground, everywhere," Stiles tried to see.
"I don't understand that part – why? The scientists working there, right?" Stiles nodded into his chest. He realized he'd left a part out.
"When we were in one of the rooms – Jackson's – we found signs something broke loose. It could've been Jackson, it might've been someone else breaking him out of there. He might not even be a factor at this point, but whatever the case, it seemed like something got out of their control and killed them. We didn't find anyone else down there, I'm not even sure what happened to any of the others in those other rooms. But…as we were leaving, there were two figures that got out ahead of us," Stiles said.
"Someone…got out? Who? Do you have any idea?" Stiles shook his head.
"Didn't get a good look at them. They were two quick, but one of them was definitely not human." Stiles nearly shuddered, thinking of that oddly moving silhouette, something snake-like in the way it had undulated.
"Stiles," Derek said, gripping Stiles' shoulders tight and moving him away. He looked Stiles hard in the eye, face set in a tight expression. "You need to leave."
"What?" Stiles blurts.
"Leave Beacon Hills, now, today, right now," Derek said seriously. Stiles backtracked.
"Why?"
"Whatever got out, it was probably one of us. Something like me, at least. Someone who has your scent," Derek said pointedly.
"Derek…That's…I don't think, I don't think I'm in danger," Stiles reasoned. No, something told him he wasn't. "If they wanted me or Allison or Lydia dead, they wouldn't have let us out of that place. We wouldn't be here. They wouldn't have gone after that technician instead."
"What technician?"
"Right, one more thing. Someone was attacked yesterday morning on the steps of the sanctuary. They worked here, and the police are saying it was an animal but a lot of people think it's a werewolf," Stiles said.
"And you think it's whatever got out of Oak Creek?" Derek asked. Stiles nodded. "You realize that doesn't make me feel any better?"
"I know. Sorry, but I'm not going anywhere," Stiles said emphatically, burying his face back in Derek's chest, squeezing the larger man snug around the middle. Reluctantly, Derek squeezed him back.
"Jesus, Stiles. You have any idea how worried I've been these last few days? After that little stunt you pulled – and by the way, you're apologizing to Scott, to all of them-,"
"Oh god, Scott. He's not mad at me, is he? Oh man," Stiles groaned.
"No, he's furious at himself. He's been beating himself up ever since the full moon. And it's not his fault, it's on your dumb ass," Derek growled.
"I know, I know, I'll…talk to Scott. But what have you guys been up to? Why were they all here on your lawn?" Stiles was curious. Derek smirked a little.
"I was teaching them how to control the shift." Stiles blinked.
"No shit?"
"No. Scott's getting pretty good at it, actually. The other three need work, but Boyd's catching up to him. Full moon really put things into perspective for them. Scott's been really upset, but he's been channeling that into controlling the shift," Derek said, almost with a touch of proud father to his tone. Stiles was duly impressed, if still a little guilt-ridden.
"Okay," Stiles said, moving away from Derek. "We should go back, regroup. Pull Scott and Allison apart and catch everyone up to speed."
"…Alright."
"Then, we plan."
xx
Allison and Scott had miraculously managed to pull themselves apart on their own accord, and Allison had been filling the others in Stiles and Derek's absence. Scott looked horrified, the others a little shell-shocked themselves, and Stiles noted Scott's arm was looped firmly and protectively around Allison's waist.
"I've got them up to speed," Allison said as Stiles and Derek walked up.
"Good. Then no objections if we go to the police with this?" Stiles asked the gathering.
"You really think they'll be able to do anything?" Isaac asked.
"I don't know, maybe, we've got photographic evidence. That should at least get someone over there. If not, this stuff is going on the internet," Stiles replied.
"We'll figure out something, there's no way this is staying quiet," Allison agreed.
"You two be careful," Scott said, looking at both Allison and Stiles, who nodded back. They knew what was at stake.
"We should get heading back," Stiles said, glancing down at his watch. "We haven't been here long but they might start getting suspicious." Allison agreed, and Stiles turned to Scott.
"Scott, no, everyone-," he turned to the others. "I'm sorry. About the other night, that was really dumb of me, I didn't mean to do that to you. I'm sorry."
"Derek told us what happened," Scott said quietly.
"Scott, I'm-,"
"No, Stiles, I'm sorry. I should've had control by now, and I nearly-,"
"No, stop, Scott, I'm at fault here, none of you are. It was my bonehead move. I'm sorry, you're not," Stiles stopped him. He was having none of Scott apologizing. That matter settled, Stiles gave Scott and Allison a moment to say their goodbyes, and, feeling bold, he turned to Derek.
"I'll be back soon, I promise," he said, then, in front of the others, the powers that be, the whole world, Stiles kissed Derek. His eyes were open, he locked them on Derek's that drew back in surprise. Stiles pulled himself back before he could let himself want more, turned on his heel, and started walking. Allison joined him shortly after, and Stiles could hear a low whistle come from Erica as the pair left the clearing.
"So. That's why you're so involved in all this," Allison said. Stiles, red in the face, muttered only "Shut up," and continued walking.
xx
She was still ribbing him by the time they made it back to the hatch.
"No, I can see it, he's kind of cute actually. You know, for a werewolf. Though I can't really say anything about that," Allison was damn near laughing at him and Stiles didn't think his face could get any redder.
"God, leave me alone woman," he grumbled as they entered the processing room and Stiles fixed the door. It was quiet inside, dark. Allison laughed a little, and then he shushed her and listened at the door.
"I don't hear anyone outside, I think we're in the clear," he said.
"So when did you two become a thing? That didn't look like the first time you-,"
"God could you please just leave it alone-," Stiles made to tell her to shut up as he opened the door. Then, he stopped short. Both of them did.
Guns were pointed at them. A semicircle of guards stood outside the processing room door, handguns all pointed directly at the exiting teenagers. There was silence in the hallway. Stiles felt like he'd been plunged into a vat of very cold water.
Stiles heard a cool, calculating, slimy voice to their left. His head felt stuck as he turned slowly to see Harris, director of the sanctuary, standing there grinning like an evil little snake curled around his meal.
"Well, what do we have here?"