Claustrophobia is an irrational fear of tight or closed off spaces. After learning that creatures straight out of nightmares walked the same earth as humans, Stiles laughed at the thought of any normal ever scaring him again. Besides what could be more horrifying than a man or woman that could transform into a beast that could eviscerate you in less than a minute? Hours ago he would have said absolutely nothing.
That was before he woke up in complete darkness, hands and feet bound in front of him. His head throbbed, his side ached as if someone was pouring and igniting bleach in him. He shivered, breath hitching. His throat was as acrid as Death Valley, he couldn't even swallow. He took deep breaths, trying to ignore the ache in his body and the putrid odor of sweat and blood. He reached up, pressing his hands against the ceiling of his tomb; there was a little sitting room if he hunched over. The sharp pang in his side dissolved that idea quickly. After feeling around blindly for a few minutes he assumed he was in some sort of packing container. There was virtually no room to maneuver.
Stiles couldn't help but whimper to himself. It felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Was that dirt he smelled? Was he buried alive? He pressed against the lid of the container, but it was weighted down. The darkness was pressing in on him like a thick blanket. He was in a coffin. He shuddered. His breath hitched, coming faster and faster. His head swam from lack of oxygen, lungs constricting. He curled into a ball, the panic attack settling over him.
He felt like that little boy after his mother's funeral. He'd run deep into the woods surrounding the cemetery, slipped and fell under large roots. It rained for two nights in a row; he'd wailed continually until one of his father's deputies had spotted him. He was that boy again, only this time he was 100% positive that he really would die.
He didn't understand why Phil had brought him here in the first place. What good was it to have a dying human in storage? Stiles shuddered again, remembering the terror he'd felt when the man had pulled him over his shoulder and raced away from his friends. And then Phil had broken Lydia's arm and bitten her. At that moment Stiles wanted to be dangerous, a threat, a werewolf. But he was only a weak and pathetic human that fell into trouble time and time again.
He choked back a sob. There would be no escaping this; he couldn't figure his way out of this one. He should have listened to Derek and not try to play the hero. He was way out his league; Peter had been tame compared to this, Jackson had even been more manageable than the alphas. And because he was a thick headed prideful human he was going to die alone and terrified. He was alone, always alone.
Stiles closed his eyes fighting the nausea and the crushing weight that had always been in him. This was not him, this was not who he was in the slightest. He was a fighter at heart. That was why Derek had chosen him, because no matter what happened he was willing to stand. He was not going to lie and succumb wallowing in self pity. He opened his eyes and began pushing on the top of the container. His muscles protested, but he continued to overexert himself just because there was no other option. He'd been his own super hero time and time again, and this time would not be any different. He was not a damsel in distress.
He pushed until his side screamed in protest. Biting back a scream of his own, he sat back, breathing deeply. He closed his eyes, blinking away the nausea again, listening intently. He heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching. Those could only be Phil.
He cringed against, the bottom, trying to make himself as small as possible when the lid was ripped open. He blinked up into the face of the rabid wolf momentarily before being drenched in the foulest smelling liquid he could imagine. He sputtered and yelped as it hit his many cuts. He raised his arms as if to block his face. Phil laughed, closing the lid again and plunging him in darkness once again.
He coughed, the strange substance burning his nostrils. Curiously, he brought his hand to his face, inhaling deeply. It was sickly sweet and pungent. It was familiar, so familiar it ran chills up and down his spine. Outside the container he heard more splashing hitting the floor. His heart froze suddenly, his breath caught in his throat. Of course he recognized the liquid…and what it meant. He pushed furiously on the container, no longer able to contain the fear ebbing at his heart.
"Help! Someone help me!" He cried as his fists banged on the roof. He heard Phil's distant cackle, but that was the least of his worries. No, what the man had just done sealed his fate. He'd doused the room in gasoline.
The house was foreboding: windows were missing panes or were chipped; the paint had peeled in several noticeable places; shingles were missing from the roof; the grass had grown to Scott's waist; and a horrid musty odor was seeping from the very foundation of the home. He and Lydia ducked under the police tape that still littered the property. She looked up at Isaac's old house in disdain, forehead wrinkling. He tucked her into his side, careful not to jostle the cocktail clenched tightly in her hands. She didn't protest to his touch as they approached.
He listened intently for the tell tale heart they were searching for. He heard one right on the other side of the door, calm and collected; the other frantic and practically screaming. He heard Stiles below them in the basement. He growled, knowing exactly where Phil must have stored him. Lydia looked at him. "Are they in there?" He nodded and drew her behind him protectively. She huffed, but otherwise said nothing.
Scott took a deep breath and kicked the door off its hinges. It crashed to the floor, sending a cloud of dust into the air. They stepped into the dimly lit room cautiously. Lydia gasped behind him, body quaking. "I-I've been here before. I saw Isaac here as a little boy…" she let the sentence hang.
She jumped at the small cough from across the room. Phil leaned casually against the kitchen doorway, picking at his fingernails. Scott crouched in front of her protectively, snarling in his throat. The man looked up and grinned, teeth gleaming menacingly. "I see you aren't as dumb as you look Scotty boy. And here I was prepared to start the show without you."
"Lydia, do it now." Scott whispered darkly. She cocked her arm back, prepared to throw, but Phil shook his head and tsked. "I wouldn't do that sweetheart. Fire is not something to play with." He spoke calmly, but Scott could hear the quickening pace of his heart. "I don't think Stiles would appreciate being burned to a crisp." The way he said the boy's name was sick.
Scott stood erect, catching Lydia's arm before she could throw the bottle. His eyes widened as he inhaled, tasting the air. It wasn't just must in the air, but a stronger odor. His nostrils flared, lips pulling back over his canines threateningly. Phil merely cocked his head to the side, that smirk widening.
"Scott what are you doing?" Lydia hissed in his ear, pulling her arm away. She looked between the two of them. He looked at her over his shoulder and she stepped back hastily, frightened of the burning fury in his face. "The house is drenched in gasoline. If we light him up…"
Lydia gasped, staring daggers at Phil. He watched the exchange in bitter amusement. "You bastard…you, you….." she roared with rage and lunged at him. Scott wrapped her up and deposited her behind him yet again.
"I've got him. Go get help. Now!" he didn't mean to sound harsh, but it was the only way to grab her attention. She jumped at his outburst, backing away. Her bottom lip trembled slightly, eyes glistening. He felt only momentary regret for making her cry.
"B-but Stiles…." She whispered as she backed out the door. He shook his head at her sadly. "I'm not going to let you get hurt Lydia. If this turns south, at least one of us will be okay." She hesitated, and then nodded solemnly. He watched her red curls disappear, and then turned to face Phil.
The man was phased, ready to fight. Scott let his animal instincts take precedence and despite his injuries, pounced.
Lydia Ann Martin was no coward. She had a thick skin and confidence that no man or woman could tear down. She was unwavering loyal to those she let into her life. Truth be told she was a major bitch, but she was no coward. She never was and wouldn't start being one.
Blocking out the sounds of the snarling beasts inside, she crept along the side of the house. There had to be a way inside that wouldn't get her torn to bits. Most houses in this neighborhood had cellar windows or cellar doors. She was tiny enough to squeeze if the need should arise, but she didn't smile upon that scenario.
She came across a cracked window hidden behind mounds of shrubbery. As she bent closer she held her nose, the putrid smell of urine stinging her nostrils. Only for Stiles, she thought as she lay flat on her stomach and shoved the rest of the glass away. She carefully poked her head into the cellar. The floor was unnaturally shiny and old discarded boxes and knickknacks cluttered the walls. She wrinkled her nose as she shimmied in, knowing the history of many of the pieces. They all knew about the abuse Isaac suffered before being turned, the absolute terror the sweet boy had endured for years. (She was still pissed that Jackson had known and done nothing for so long.)
Her feet hit the ground and she winced at the impact. The room was rigid with cold, cobwebs hung ominously over head, and the gasoline in the air was suffocating. She tiptoed through the basement, jumping at the crashes that shook the house above. She coughed, stopping so often to take shallow breaths. Phil had really crossed the line.
She heard it then, the frantic sobs and banging. She ran to the freezer, cursing loud and furiously. It was bolted with large industrial chains, the alpha symbol smeared over the top. She pressed her head close. "Stiles I'm here. Hold on, while I try to get this off."
"Lydia? You're okay?" he cried from within. She could hear the panic in his voice, smell the gas leaking from inside the container. The bastard had poured it on him too? Did they have no boundaries? She swallowed her anger and pulled on the chains all to no avail.
She heard the snarls and yelps get louder, closer to them. She hastily dashed to the pile of junk, shifting through it to find anything useful. There had to be wire cutters or something of equivalent value there. She heard Stiles grunting as he pushed on the container again and again. She didn't know how extensive his injuries were, but the adrenaline was helping him ignore whatever he was feeling at that moment.
"Damn, damn, damn!" she grunted, throwing another useless artifact behind her. There was nothing here that could possibly help! She needed something that only an alpha could give her now- she needed werewolf strength. The tears involuntarily fell from her eyes as she tried again tugging on the chains. She went into a fit of coughing, the smell too strong. Stiles was wheezing on the inside, sputtering and gagging. She wasn't sure if Phil would even need the fire to kill the boy.
"Stiles hang in there. Please hang on!" she couldn't hide the hysteria in her voice any longer. She let the tears roll down as she strained. It was no use, she just wasn't that strong.
"Lydia….Lydia you need to go…" the boy coughed. "Go; you won't be any use…dead."
"Stiles I'm not leaving you. You didn't leave me! You were there; I can't leave you like this." She wanted nothing more than to embrace him at that moment.
"Lydia Ann Martin listen to me! You. Will. Die. You're smart enough to know I'm not walking out of here at this moment. If you don't leave now-" She never knew how he would finish that sentence. The basement door flew against the wall, Scott with it. He hit the wall and slid to the floor. He blinked and his head snapped in her direction. She cringed, fearing for her life. She had never seen him so furious and deadly before; even Peter hadn't looked as furious.
"What are you doing here?!" he roared. She didn't have time to respond. Phil flew down the stairs, tackling Scott to the ground. She yelped, plastering herself against the wall as the two wolves rolled and ripped at each other. Phil was quickly gaining the advantage, Scott overwhelmed with Stiles being so close by. He shoved the boy against the wall, kneeing him repeatedly in the ribcage. Blood spurted from his mouth, his body sagging.
She shook with uncontrollable rage, watching him get pummeled. She acted without thinking, grabbing a figurine and throwing it at the back of his head. It shattered against his skull. He wheeled on her, snarling hungrily. The man released Scott and came at her, jaws open. She screwed up her face. Everything they'd been through flashed in her head. She pulled the flask from behind her back. "Burn in Hell you bastard." She threw it straight into his mouth.
The flames engulfed him within seconds, a high pitched scream tearing up his throat. The smell of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils. He collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony. For a moment she felt triumphant, then screamed in horror as the floor came alive in golden flames. They angrily licked around the cellar. She coughed as the smoke thickened, feeling along the walls for the window. Suddenly, strong arms scooped her up and raced her up and out of the house. The fire followed them as Scott ran her to the safety of the street.
Lydia looked over her shoulders, hot tears cascading down her face as he sat her on her feet. He held on to her comfortingly, rubbing her hair. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
She was shaking uncontrollably, falling to her knees. Her heart was broken. "Stiles!" she gasped, drinking in gulps of fresh air. Scott looked torn between comforting her and saving his best friend. He chose wisely. She didn't protest as he left her and raced back into the house just as the front porch collapsed.
The last alpha he'd really fought on his own had been Laura. Growing up when they'd battled he'd teased her about being the weakest; after all he was destined to be the next alpha, not his sister. But once she'd become alpha he learned his place. She was adamant about them training until their bones cracked and limbs bled. Day after day she took him out to abandoned warehouses around their apartment and promptly beat him to a pulp. She never went easy on him, her claws and teeth unforgiving. Laura never let him walk away until he landed a sufficient blow. She'd coldly told him that any other alpha would always go for the kill and that unless he wished to die he'd have to be willing to do the same.
He hadn't wanted to kill Peter, but the man was rabid; it was a necessary evil. But he had no qualms about slaughtering Isabella. He wanted to do more than just kill her. He wanted to tear out her entrails or pick her apart piece by piece. He wanted her blood to soak into the Earth, forever a remainder that he was not an alpha to be trifled with. He wanted this, but he would settle for what he could get.
The wolf charged him, bringing her heavy paw down on him. He dodged and snapped his jaw over her shoulder. His teeth tore through the sinew and muscles, snapping the bone. Isabella howled in fury and jumped back before charging him again. This time he flew at her and slammed into her, his claws raking across her underbelly. She bit down hard on his collarbone. They fell apart, both breathing laboriously.
Derek had learned two things about Isabella since they began fighting. First, she was formidable in battle, able to outmaneuver her opponent despite her size; secondly she was vicious, using underhanded tactics to gain the upper hand. That made it hard to fight her, but not impossible. He'd picked up a few tricks from Laura, both fair and dirty. What surprised him most was that she wasn't all that strong at all. When he transformed his power easily trumped hers. But he didn't get cocky. He wanted to end this quickly and get back to Stiles as soon as possible.
Isabella shuddered, swaying a little as she backed off. A feral snarl ripped from her throat. She shook her head, regaining her balance and fixing him with an icy glare. Her ears flattened against her head and she sat back on her haunches. He knew this was it, the deciding blow. Either he would finish or she would finish him. At this point it could very easily go her way, but for Stiles sake he had to win. He blinked and she was on him. He fell to his back, her claws carving into his flesh. She bent for his neck, going for the kill, when a projectile knocked her off.
He looked incredulously at Jackson, who was crouched in front of him. An arrow whizzed over head and buried itself into Isabella's chest. She stepped back, growling and snarling. He climbed to his feet, shaking off a wave of panic that suddenly shot through his body. He didn't know where it came from, but he had a chilling suspicion it wasn't good. Allison came to his right, face stern and cold. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, nodding stiffly. He returned it, knowing at least then that past sins were forgiven; they were pack.
Isabella ran at Allison before the girl could even raise her crossbow again. She stepped back in fear, throwing her arms up in defense. Erica darted out in front and planted a perfect roundhouse kick to the wolf's jaw. The audible crack momentarily froze them as Isabella fell back. Boyd came before them suddenly, holding Isaac above his head. The boy then hurtled his pack mate at Isabella. Derek watched in fascination as Isaac flew through the air, transforming at the right second and landing on the she wolf's back. Isabella bucked and howled as she tried to throw him off. The boy plunged his fist between her shoulder blades. She crumpled to her knees, eyes closing.
Isaac slipped off her back and made to rejoin them when a white paw swiped out and grabbed his ankle. He fell with a blood curling scream, his head bouncing off the pavement. Isabella stood to her feet, dragging him to his feet and holding him like a human shield. Her nails pierced the delicate skin of his neck and let herself de-phase into a half wolf. She glared at them.
"Enough. Back down or your beta dies." She kept her eyes level with Derek's as she dug her claws a little deeper in Isaac's neck. He hissed at the pain.
"Don't Derek. Kill her." He winced when she pulled him tighter against her.
His betas whined next to him, Allison lowered her weapons. Derek didn't shift. He kept his face composed as she growled at him. He wasn't going to transform, this was far from over. He grinned at her. Her nostrils flared. "Did you not hear me Hale? I said I will kill your beta if you don't back down. You're just as bad as my alpha. You'd sacrifice your subordinates to save your own skin." She spat.
"Actually, he was waiting for me, his dear uncle, to rescue the boy before he beheads you." Peter whispered behind her. She gasped, but it was too late. Peter grabbed her arm and twisted it back. She released Isaac and turned on Peter. He side stepped her and in one fluid motion picked up Isaac and bridal style carried him behind their ranks.
Isabella's eyes widened comically. She gulped and turned tail and ran. Derek looked at his pack. They waited for his command patiently. "Go find Scott and Lydia. I've got her." They nodded and dispersed. He bolted after her, her trail leading him into the dense shrubbery. It didn't take him long to catch up to her. Her red hair whipped out behind her as she ran; he reached out and fisted it, jerking her back. He slammed her against the nearest tree raising his hand to slash her throat. "It's over," he growled.
Her reaction was confounding. She began to laugh maniacally, throwing her head back. He growled fiercely at her. "This is far from over Hale. Don't think you are the only one who knows what tonight is. History will repeat itself. Kill me Derek, but there is no saving him, not this time. Once again Derek you've killed the person you love."
Derek roared and slashed through her throat, the hot blood spurting on him. Her eyes glassed over, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He stepped back and let her fall to the ground. He breathed deeply, flexing his muscles. She couldn't have meant what he thought she meant. There was no possible way… suddenly he seized, as if his body were on fire. He screamed into the night, holding on to the tree for support. His vision swam with tears. He felt like he was coming undone at the seams, flashes of red and gold running through his head. He looked over his shoulder in the distance, hearing the tell tale explosion. "Stiles!" he roared. He turned, running full throttle to his mate.
The house was going to come down. Derek knew it as soon as he reached the street which was now filling with people. He shoved them out the way carelessly, pushing through to the front of the crowd. He saw the pack tussling with bystanders who were trying to hold them back from the fire. He grabbed the one holding Erica and slammed his fist into his face. The others backed off as the man dropped cold. Lydia was in hysterics, but she ran at him as soon as she spotted him.
"The basement, they're in the basement!" she screeched. "There's a window on the side of the house. Hurry!" He nodded and ran towards the crumbling house. Isaac and Boyd followed as they came around the side. The window was impossibly small for any of them to scramble through. Derek grunted and punched at the flaming bricks, watching them crumble away.
They jumped through the freshly made hole into the inflamed basement looking for Scott and Stiles. Scott was laying unconscious half on the cooler; it was apparent he was tugging at the chains. "Isaac, get him out of here." The smaller boy darted forward and pulled Scott's arm over his shoulder. The boy groaned, eyes fluttering. They were red and puffy as they fell on Derek.
"I-I can't get him out. Derek it's going to explode." He fell over gasping and seizing. He was having an asthma attack.
"Isaac go!" he barked running for the deep freezer. He angrily tore at the symbol, straining to hear the boy trapped inside. There was a faint heart beat, but it was dropping sluggishly. He and Boyd pulled at the chains, snapping them easily. He ignored the pain from the heated coils of metals, throwing open the cooler.
Stiles lay semi conscious in the bottom. He blinked up at them, his heart spiking, lungs expanding with air. "D-Derek." He reached for him and Derek hastily wrapped his jacket around the boy, pulling him into his arms. Derek swallowed back his tears, just embracing him.
"I'm here, I'm here, it's okay." He nodded to Boyd and they started making their way to the hole. Boyd stepped through first, into Erica's waiting arms. He stepped up next, handing the boy to Peter. He stepped out next, immediately taking him back. He heard the crowd gasping and a fire truck in the distance. He looked pointedly at everyone, making sure they were all accounted for. Erica and Boyd were embracing as if it were their last night; Isaac was leaning Scott against the fence, letting him gulp lungs full of air; Jackson was cradling Lydia to his chest; Peter was standing back in the shadows pointedly; Allison stood awkwardly in the middle, unsure of her place.
They all looked at him and he couldn't restrain the lone tear sliding down his face as he looked down at Stiles. "Everyone to Deaton's. quickly, before authorities arrive."